Chapter Text
Sandrone has been working on her thesis for close to three hours straight when she finally realizes that time has stopped.
She pauses, hands freezing over her laptop's keyboard. Her ears strain to hear the familiar tick-tock, tick-tock. Nothing. The only noise that greets her is the hum of her laptop's fan and the soft snoring coming from Pulonia on the bed.
Well... crap.
With a frustrated sigh, Sandrone closes her web browser and pushes out her chair. There goes her concentration for the night. Grumbling, she reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out her battered, bronze pocket watch and clicks open the case. She peers down at the time.
...Yep. Frozen. The hands are stuck in place at 11:17, which definitely isn't the time now. When was the last time she wound the springs? Sandrone reaches out to her phone on the desk and taps the screen.
Her face blanches when she sees the time. 2:13? What the hell. It feels like she's made barely any progress on her thesis work. Annoyed, Sandrone clicks down on the key crown of her pocket watch with a bit more force than what's strictly necessary.
The lid pops open. Scratches dot the inside of the case, weathered by time, and her tired eyes glance over the small words etched into the metal.
Regrettably, there's nothing more to say
Sandrone stares at the words for a moment longer before letting out an exhausted exhale. She adjusts the hands to the current time before giving the key crown a few good turns. A second later, the familiar tick-tock fills the silence as time resumes.
There we go. Right as rain.
Sandrone drops the old keepsake back into her hoodie pocket and leans back in her chair, rubbing her brow. Exhaustion and frustration are warring in her body and it's definitely the frustration that's winning out. Close to three hours of work and all she's written are a few extra pages. Bah. What a wasted evening.
...And now she's starting to feel the crash. Crap.
With a disgruntled huff, she realizes that tonight is quickly turning into one of those nights– one where she needs at least another three cups of caffeine in her system and for the rest of her dorm mates to disappear off the face of the Earth for a few hours. Or failing that, to stay absolutely quiet so that she can work in peace. That’s a pretty impossible ask, considering that Childe is down the hall from her own room and he’s always playing those stupid online games with voice chat on. But with enough cups of coffee, Sandrone’s confident she can outlast him.
Besides, everyone knows that the best way to ward off a caffeine crash is simply more caffeine.
The rest of the Fatui House is silent as she heads down the stairs to the dorm kitchens. She’s not expecting anyone else to be up this late other than the rest of the dorm nightowls, but that expectation is quickly dashed when she sees that the kitchen lights are on. There’s the sound of conversation coming from within and Sandrone has to bite back a groan. She doesn’t have the mental energy to engage in small talk right now. Ugh, whatever. Hopefully, it’s just Thrain getting a late-night snack for his insomnia. Please let it be that, pleeeeease. Bracingly, she pokes her head through the entryway.
It's not Thrain that Sandrone spots in the kitchen, but Rosalyne, the resident assistant. She's seated at the kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of her and despite it being two in the morning, looking as drop-dead gorgeous as ever. She's deep in conversation with someone else that Sandrone doesn’t recognize and when she sees Sandrone hovering in the doorway, she warmly waves her over.
“Ah, Sandrone! You’re up late again, darling.” There’s a gentle note of admonishment in her voice, but not harsh enough to be cutting. She waves a hand over to the kitchen counter, towards their ancient coffee maker that’s seen better days. “There’s coffee in the pot if you need it.”
Archons, yes. Rosalyne always seems to know when she needs her fix. She’s a saint in the Fatui House. “Thanks,” Sandrone grunts out, making a straight beeline to the coffee maker.
“You’re very welcome. Have you had a chance to meet our new dorm mate, by the way? Her flight was delayed and she only just arrived.”
Sandrone blinks. New dorm mate? That's news to her. Who the hell transfers this late in a semester? Bewildered, she finally turns around to peer at the second person sitting at the table. She’d been so focused on getting her coffee and getting out that she’d glanced right past them.
Sitting at the opposite end of the stowaway table is a girl who looks to be around Sandrone’s age, with long black hair that reaches behind her back. She has a delicate, pale face that's mostly obscured by the darkened shades perched on her nose. She raises her hand in greeting.
“Hello.”
The new girl's voice is so soft that Sandrone nearly misses hearing her greeting, despite how quiet the kitchen is. She lowers her hand, smoothing out the ruffles of her pleated skirt that looks like it could cost more than the entire dorm itself, and rests it on the top of the head of the small border collie napping in her lap.
Sandrone takes this all in with a small frown. The sunglasses at night and indoors are certainly a choice... but it’s not like that's any of her business. She nods stiffly back at her before turning back to her real objective. Caffeine. “Hey.”
She can feel Rosalyne staring disapprovingly at the back of her head for the lackluster greeting. Tough. It’s late, she still has five pages to type up for her thesis, and the last thing she wants to do is make pointless small talk with a weirdo who wears their sunglasses indoors. At night.
Sandrone opens the overhead cupboard and grabs her mug, a chipped ceramic piece that says, “I went to Fontaine and all I could afford was this lousy cup!” on the side in faded red lettering, and takes it over to the coffee maker.
She hears Rosalyne clear her throat. “Columbina here was just telling me about her previous schooling," she says, trying her best and politest to rope Sandrone into a conversation with the newcomer. "She’ll be starting classes later this week.”
Columbina.
Now that's a weird name that Sandrone's never heard of before. It's definitely foreign? Natlan? Hmmm, probably not. Well, whatever. Sandrone grunts. “Neat. Good luck with catching up."
Rosalyne clicks her tongue and Sandrone knows that she’ll be getting an earful later for being a crappy conversationalist, but that’s a problem for future her, not caffeine-deprived her right now. Seeing as how Sandrone refuses to be lured into the conversation, Rosalyne turns back to Columbina and asks, “What are you majoring in, Columbina, dear?”
“I’m undecided.” The new girl’s voice is so quiet that the sound of Sandrone pouring the coffee into her mug is even louder. She watches out of the corner of her eye as the new girl taps the handle of her cup but doesn’t pick it up. “I wanted to take music theory, but my brother says that’s a waste of money if he has to put me through school for something so useless.”
Huh. Sandrone’s brow creases. That’s… more than a little TMI. But… It’s whatever. She’s heard worse complaining from Shugenja and his mommy issues.
She can sense Rosalyne struggling for a response to that little conversation killer. “Ah. I see. That’s… well. I’m sure your uncle must have his reasons for thinking that way," she says as she picks up her own mug and takes a sip.
“I think the only reason is that he’s a dick,” says Columbina, with a completely straight face, and Rosalyne makes a spluttering noise as she chokes on her coffee. Even Sandrone’s not expecting that kind of answer from someone so soft-spoken and dainty-looking. The snort is surprised out of her before she can stop it, causing the hand holding her mug to loosen. She scrabbles, but the mug slips from her fingers and shatters in the sink.
Everyone in the kitchen starts. The border collie that had been napping in the new girl’s lap suddenly jumps up, letting out a startled ‘woof!’
“Shit.” Sandrone curses, shaking her hand. She leans forward and peers into the sink and… yeaaaaaah, that mug is gone. Son of a–
Rosalyne is by her side in a flash. “Are you alright?” She places a hand on her shoulder and Sandrone quickly brushes it off.
“Fine. Peachy.”
But her mug though... Sandrone grips the edge of the sink with both hands, glaring down at the mess. Well, there goes her much-needed caffeine fix. Even worse, that was her only coffee mug as well. That fact alone frustrates her more than anything because sure, it was an overpriced tourist trap piece of crap… but it was HER overpriced tourist trap piece of crap and now it’s gone.
Gone. Just like that.
God. She really needs to get some sleep if she’s ready to lose it over a freaking cup.
“Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll clean it up. You can use one of mine.” Rosalyne reaches into the cabinet and hands her a red mug. Sandrone’s knee-jerk reaction is to snap back at her and tell her she doesn’t need it, but she bites back on the impulse. Rosalyne’s just fussy like that and she’s only trying to help.
“Thanks,” Sandrone grunts out instead, accepting the cup. Quickly, before she can make a bigger idiot of herself, she snatches the coffee pot and tips it into the mug. As she does, she looks up and glares at the new girl, daring her to make a pitying comment or something along those lines.
The new girl doesn’t even react. Her sunglasses are aimed at a spot on the wall behind Sandrone’s left shoulder.
Huh.
Rosalyne sits back down at the table. “In any case, it’s getting late and I'm sure you still need to unpack your belongings, Columbina. You can use the room next to Sandrone’s. It used to be Shugenja’s, but he’s studying abroad in Sumeru right now. Sandrone, would you mind showing her up?”
“Sure. Whatever.” Sandrone turns around and leans against the counter and takes a sip. Warm liquid pours down her throat, bitter and scalding and Archons, that’s just what her body needed. Finally. She peers over the rising steam from her mug and regards the newcomer.
“Welcome to Fatui House.” Sandrone raises her mug in mock salute and sneers. “It’s a crap hole here.”
Rosalyne lets out another annoyed noise but the new girl doesn’t really react. She just tilts her head to the side as she continues to pet the border collie in her lap. “Is that so? It’s a really nice crap hole if that’s the case.”
The sneer on Sandrone’s face melts into a scowl. Oooookay. So not just a weird name, but a weirdo in general. Greeeaaat, just what the dorms needed. And she still hasn’t taken off those stupid sunglasses of hers. For some reason, that annoys Sandrone more than anything else. What is her deal? Seriously. Is it some sort of hipster statement thing or–
Oh wait.
The sunglasses. The dog. The off-center staring. It all comes together in Sandrone’s mind. With a start, it suddenly hits her.
She’s blind.
The new girl stands up from the seat and the border collie jumps off her lap. She picks up the cane lying on the table, the one Sandrone is just noticing now, and taps it on the ground in front of her as she approaches Sandrone.
“I’m not going to be here long, but even so,” Columbina sticks out her hand and tilts her head to the side. Something like a half-smile cracks out along her lips.
“I’m hoping that we can be friends.”
Sandrone looks at the outstretched hand. She looks up to the new girl’s face, pale as porcelain.
To the frozen half-smile that doesn’t even reach her eyes, hiding behind the darkened shades.
“Eh.” Sandrone turns away, ignoring the hand. “Don’t count on it.”
This time, Rosalyne’s gasp is absolutely offended. “Sandrone!”
But Sandrone’s already out of the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time, leaving behind Rosalyne and the girl with the fake smile to their own company. Everyone else can play nice with the new girl if they want to but not Sandrone. She’s not here to make friends or to give a crap.
It’s better this way.
For everyone.
—
The sun is juuuuuust beginning to peek through the cracks of her window shutters when Sandrone decides to call it quits for the night. Or more accurately, early morning. She’s made all but crap progress on her thesis and the only thing that extra caffeine in her system has accomplished is jittery hands and a fat lot of nothing.
That and now she needs to go to the bathroom.
With what has to be the third or fourth aggravated sigh of the night, Sandrone pushes her chair out and stands up. Her kneecaps make an uncomfortable popping noise and she winces.
“Ow.”
From the bed, Pulonia raises his shaggy head. He gives her a worrying look from behind a droopy eye and lets out an inquisitive ‘woof?’
“I’m fine, Pulonia.” Sandrone rolls her shoulders and that pops too. Ow, dammit. So much for that assurance. She leans over and ruffles her Saint Bernard’s ponderous head. “I just need to use the bathroom. Be right back.”
Pulonia lets out an obedient 'woof' and lowers his head, going back to sleep. Good boy. Quietly, she tiptoes over to her door and opens it.
Sandrone nearly doesn’t see the cup placed on the floor, right outside her door, but thank god she did. She quickly pulls back her foot, successfully averting a second disaster of the night.
“The hell…” Scowling, Sandrone bends down, snatching the mug. There’s a note taped to the side of the cup. She tears it off and unfolds it, squinting at the unfamiliar, floaty handwriting.
Sorry for breaking your mug earlier. You can have mine, it’s my favorite.
There’s a scribble in the corner of a cartoon face with long, dark bangs and wearing sunglasses. Sandrone’s brow furrows. Who the hell– oh. New girl. Columbo or whatever her name is. That’s right.
Sandrone’s scowl deepens and she lets out a scoff, flipping the paper to the other side. A handwritten note, really? What is she, six? And it can’t be her favorite mug if she’s willing to give it up so easily. Still frowning, she takes a closer look at the mug.
It's... hard to describe. It's definitely Christmas-themed, based on the evergreen pines painted around the surface, as well as the intense green coloring. Handmade too, because the handle is terribly lopsided and ugly. And are those... supposed to be snowflakes? It looks like bits of dandruff more than anything else. The real kicker though, is the pair of decorative… antlers(?) sticking straight up on the sides of the lip. Honestly, it’s all kind of terrifying. The thing looks like a ceremonial eye gouger more than a mug.
“Guess we know how she went blind now,” Sandrone mutters… and immediately feels an inexplicable sense of guilt wash over her right after. God, she needs sleep. Bad.
From behind her in the room, she hears Pulonia make a disapproving huff as the cold air from the hall leaks into her warm room.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm going."
She falls back onto the bed as soon as she's done with the bathroom but as tired as she is, sleep refuses to come quickly. She tosses and turns so much so that even Pulonia gets fed up and jumps down to sleep on the floor instead.
When the exhaustion finally sinks its claws into her, the last thing she hears is the lonely ticking of her pocket watch as it keeps time in the silence by itself.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
—
Sandrone puts the whole interaction with the new girl out of her mind for the rest of the week. There’s not enough space in her brain to ponder over her new dorm mate and all the weird energy she brings into the space. Midterms are coming up, she needs to work on her thesis, and a whole slew of other things that pretty much force her to lock herself up in her room and work 24/7. Safe to say, her social life is pretty much nonexsistent thanks to her routine. The most she gets out of her social life nowadays is the occasional hello grunted out to whoever’s in the kitchen when she has to make her nightly caffeine run.
A small, hesitant part of her brain knows it's not healthy for her to operate like this. The larger, more driven part of her brain, however, usually tells the smaller part to shut up. Rest? That’s for the weak. And honestly, if she had her way, she’d replace all the stuff in her brain that forces her to sleep with clockwork parts. Life would be so much easier that way.
Unfortunately, there’s still the odd occasion where she has to emerge from her room and pretend to be human and give a crap. The academic advisement meeting she has this afternoon is one such occasion and like always, she procrastinates until the very last minute to get ready. Then it all becomes a chaotic rush of brushing her teeth, finding a hoodie in her to-do laundry pile that’s the least wrinkled, and running a brush through her hair. By the time she’s done, she’s only semi-presentable and already running late.
Alain would have a fit if he saw how slovenly she looks nowadays. Hell, her past self would throw a fit too, but eh, what can she do? Circumstances change and all that.
“Sandrone,” Rosalyne calls out to her as she comes down the stairs. She has a look on her face that screams 'we need to have a talk,' but Sandrone's not in the mood to put up with all that right now. She pushes past Rosalyne, brushing her off with a quick apology. Undeterred, Rosalyne follows after her towards the door anyway. “Sandrone, darling, a moment of your time, if you could–”
“Not now, Rosalyne.” Sandrone shoves her feet into her Mary-Janes and flips her hood up. She reaches into her pocket and clicks open her pocketwatch. 12:23. Her meeting with her academic advisor is in seven minutes. It takes at least ten minutes to walk from the dorms to the administrator’s office. Damn it. “You can tell me later at tea today.”
“But…”
Sandrone opens the door and a blast of cold winter air hits her cheeks. Brr. Should’ve brought a scarf along. “Bye. See you later,” she calls out, closing the door behind her.
She doesn’t hear what Rosalyne says as the door shuts. It sounds like her name. It sounds like disappointment. Maybe. Who knows.
—
“I’m afraid it’s not looking good."
That's the first thing Sandrone's advisor says to her when she sits down in the office chair that's just a size too big for her. What a way to start the conversation. Sandrone bites her tongue. She forces herself to look up into her advisor’s face.
“What do you mean by that, ma’am?” she asks, forcing politeness through gritted teeth.
Her advisor adjusts her red-rimmed glasses with a practiced hand. She looks more like a stuck-up Akademiya librarian than an academic advisor… and honestly, her personality is like an Akademiya librarian’s too, all self-important and full of herself. Thank god Sandrone only has to deal with her a handful of times per semester.
“I’ve kept my grades up in the appropriate range and my GPA is 4.0. I meet all the stipulations set by the university system.”
“You do. Save for one.” Her advisor takes the mouse on her desk and clicks a few times. She turns the monitor screen around for Sandrone to see. “Your attendance."
Sandrone leans forward to peer at the screen. She scowls at the Excel sheet and the single row filled with a streak of red. "I don't understand."
"It's dangerously low across all your registered classes."
"So?" At the frown her advisor throws her way, Sandrone backtracks. "I mean, I do the homework and show up for tests. Isn’t that enough.”
Sandrone can tell that her advisor is doing an amazing job from sighing in exasperation, even with her patience running razor-thin. “Not if you want to keep your scholarship, I’m afraid. You need at least a fifty percent attendance rate to keep receiving the benefits.”
Sandrone manages to keep her jaw from dropping but only just. Fifty percent?! What?! Who decided it had to be fifty? Did some moron just pull it out of a hat? This whole time she thought it was like… five percent! Or ten!
“With all due respect,” begins Sandrone, switching to immediate damage control mode because that scholarship is the only thing standing between her future and being forced to stay in the hellhole she has to call home. Something in her tone must annoy her advisor, because the frown quickly deepens on the other woman’s face. Sandrone pauses. “With all due respect, ma'am, but there’s nothing I could learn in class that a textbook can’t teach me. I’d just spend the time there catching up on my sleep. That's time I could be using to work on my thesis instead.”
“Ms. Guillotin." Her advisor pushes up her glasses with an imperious hand and Sandrone gets the sense that the sleeping part was probably better left unsaid. "While I understand that juggling both academia and a social life–”
The snort leaves Sandrone before she can stop it. Her advisor pauses, eyes narrowing.
“...and a social life can be challenging, especially at your age. But still, that is no excuse to dismiss the classroom setting entirely. Interacting and growing alongside your peers is a fundamental doctrine of the founders of Teyvat State University."
Like hell it is. Sandrone’s hand balls into a fist in her hoodie pocket. What a load of crap. She’s seen monkeys on the Discovery Channel with more brain stem power than the ‘peers’ in her classroom. It’s insulting.
...But what’s more insulting is that she needs this scholarship. Because there’s no way she can afford rent and living costs by herself. Being an orphan of the state limits her options and it's not like Alain left her anything but memories and his own regrets when he kicked the bucket.
“Fine. I’ll go to class.” Sandrone stands up from the chair and slings her backpack over her shoulder. She’s already calculating the amount of sleep she’s going to be losing and how much extra caffeine she’ll need to ingest to keep functioning. She marches over to the door, eager to get the day’s classes over with so that she can head back to Fatui house and fume in the comfort of her own dorm room. “Anything else. Ma’am?”
“Just a word of advice.”
Her advisor removes her glasses and sets them down on the desk. Without the librarian frames, she suddenly looks much older.
“No man, or woman, is an island. There comes a time when even the most solitary of existences must end." She pauses and stares directly into Sandrone's eyes. "I hope, for your sake, that you realize that fact before it’s too late.”
She pauses and an awkward silence fills the room. Sandrone can only stare dumbly back at her. There’s no way she’s being serious? What with that fortune cookie wisdom baloney... right?
Her advisor stares right back at her and…oh god, she’s actually being serious. This is the woman who's supposed to be helping Sandrone plan out the rest of her academic future. Wonderful.
Sandrone opens the door and steps out, not bothering to look behind her at her advisor’s expression, whatever it may be.
“Yeeeeeeeah sure. I’ll keep that in mind. Ma’am.”
–-
By the time Sandrone is done with the daily slog, she’s had an entire day of pointless classes to fume over her afternoon indignity. Annoyed is an understatement. It’s only the reassurance of her tea party later that keeps her from snapping at the freshman manning the mail room counter when she shows up an hour later.
“Hey.” She dumps her backpack onto the ground and the freshman looks up from his phone. “Here to pick up the mail for Fatui House.”
The freshman’s eyes widen. “Oh, finally. We were wondering when someone from your place was coming over. We were starting to run out of room back here.”
What? Sandrone frowns but before she can question further, the freshman hops off his stool and disappears off to the side. Something heavy can be heard being dragged across the floor and a second later, the door to the mail room opens up. The freshman pops out, lugging behind him a trash bag fit to burst.
“Here you go,” he says, dropping the trash bag in front of Sandrone. He wipes his hand off on his jeans, giving the trash bag a nod of respect. “You guys have gotten pretty popular over the past week. Something big happened over there?”
Sandrone stares in disbelief at the trash bag, only snapping her head back at the freshman’s question. “What? No, no. This can’t be right. Are you sure this is all addressed to the Fatui House?”
“I mean, we can check to make sure.” The freshman undoes the knot on the trash bag and pulls out an envelope. “Let’s see here. 255 Snezhna Way. To Miss Columbina Hiyps- Hipos- how do you read this?”
Sandrone stiffens. “Give me that.” She snatches the letter from the freshman’s hand and stares at the address.
Columbina Hyposelenia.
Suddenly, the image of the new girl’s face pops up in Sandrone’s mind. The cracked half-smile that doesn't reach her eyes hidden by the shades. Sandrone hasn’t thought of her since their meeting last week. Honestly, she forgot she even existed.
What the hell?
“Whoever they are, they must be a pretty big deal, huh?”
“Who asked you?” snaps Sandrone, and the easy grin on the freshman’s face melts off faster than Pulonia devouring a doggie treat. She places a hand against her brow, eyeing the trash bag with no small amount of fear. How the hell is she supposed to drag this all the way back home without freezing to death? Fatui House is on the opposite side of the campus, for crying out loud. She lets out an aggravated breath and turns back to the freshman.
“Do you know if anything from the Fontaine Research Institute came in? I’m expecting a letter.”
“Hm…” The freshman scratches at his non-existent stubble. “Oh yeah. Envelope with fancy lettering and big ol' funny-looking seal?”
Sandrone leaps forward. “Yes! Yes, that’s the one.”
“Yeah, something like that came in. It’s somewhere in there.” He nods towards the trash bag and Sandrone feels her excitement take a nosedive straight into the floor. “Good luck finding it!”
“Hey, wait–!”
But the freshman is already slamming the mail room door behind him. A second later, the shutter comes crashing down along with the 'Closed' sign that swings mockingly at Sandrone.
Great.
Just. Great.
—
“Someone’s popular,” Arlecchino remarks with a raised eyebrow when she opens the door for Sandrone twenty minutes later. The red-eyed senior eyes the trash bag lying on the ground before letting her gaze fall on Sandrone, gasping and wheezing on the doorstep.
“Do you require assistance?”
“No, I’m obviously dragging this trashbag around so that I can throw my back out and end myself in the most humiliating way possible.” Sandrone pushes a sweaty bang out of her eyes and heaves the trash bag over the threshold at Arlecchino’s feet. “What, do you want me to beg? Give me a hand!”
Arlecchino is one of the few people who never seems to take offense with Sandrone’s piss poor attitude, no matter how crappy it may be. Instead of bristling, she simply grabs the other side of the trash bag and drags it into the dorm. Her patience probably stems from all the volunteer hours she has logged at the local orphanage. From what Sandrone knows, some of the orphans there are real hellraisers but they all seem pretty taken with Arlecchino, for some reason.
“That’s quite a bit more mail than I was expecting. Did Tartaglia sign up for another protein bar sweepstake scam again?”
Sandrone snorts. “I wish.” She kicks off her Mary-Janes and reaches up to massage the awful kink building up in her shoulders. “This is all for the new girl. You know. Columbina.”
It's hard not to hide her distaste when she utters the name. Arlecchino tilts her head, her crimson cross earrings shifting with the motion. She opens her mouth, no doubt to express her disbelief, but before she can do so, another voice interrupts her.
“Peruere, cherie! How do you get your stove to turn on?” A high-pitched, shrill voice drifts out from the kitchen down the hall. “It keeps making a clicking noise. It’s… not going to explode on me, is it?”
“Press the knob down. It’ll light up after three clicks.” Arlecchino calls over her shoulder. She turns back to Sandrone to see an affronted look on her face. “Yes?”
“You invited your girlfriend to tea?! Again?!” Sandrone hisses in a low voice so that no one else can hear. At her tone, Arlecchino frowns.
“As I recall, Furina’s presence was well received by everyone at our previous get-together.”
“Because it was supposed to be just that one time! Tea is supposed to be our thing! Not for people outside the dorms!”
It’s hard not to feel betrayed. Amongst everyone in the Fatui House, Arlecchino is the most… tolerable in Sandrone’s eyes. Sure, she might dress like the world’s most depressed goth, and yeah, she talks like a Shakespeare villain with a permanent stick up their rear, but Sandrone chalks it up to her personality just being like that. All in all, if she’s being totally honest, Arlecchino’s… fine. Heck, on good days, Sandrone might even be convinced to call Arlecchino a friend.
The days when she brings over her annoying girlfriend though, don’t count. How Arlecchino even got a nepo-baby girlfriend, let alone put up with all her theater kid dramatics, Sandrone has no clue, nor does she particularly care. Maybe it's a case of opposites attracting or something stupid like that, who knows. In any case, tea today is going to be one huge headache. Arlecchino’s girlfriend absolutely never shuts up about herself.
“If it displeases you so much,” Arlecchino says slowly and Sandrone snaps back to the present, “then I can ask her to leave.”
The way she says it makes it so much worse. Because Sandrone can recognize the tone in her voice and the look in her eyes. It’s the same look that all her teachers and counselors have given her before they list out all the things wrong with her. Self-centered. Spiteful. Obsessive. And Sandrone hates it, hates the burning shame it ignites in her, even though she's right and they're the idiots.
And sure, maybe it’s a stupid hill to die on, but tea is just supposed to be for them.
For her friends.
“I didn’t say that,” Sandrone mutters, turning away from Arlecchino’s judgemental gaze. “Your girlfriend is free to do whatever she wants. I don’t care.”
“Very well then. Thank you.”
For some reason, the grateful note in Arlecchino’s tone stings even worse than the judgment, so much so that Sandrone wants to just lash out again. But that would be playing right into everyone’s expectations of her, so instead, she lets out a grunt and begins hauling the trashbag full of mail into the kitchen, Arlecchino following behind her.
Inside the kitchen, Arlecchino’s girlfriend is busying herself at the overhead cabinet, laying out their spare teacups onto a tea tray. Before Sandrone can snap at her to leave them alone and let her handle it, she looks up and her mismatched blue eyes brighten when she sees the two of them.
“Sacre bleu! Is that you, Sandrone? My, it’s been an age and then some since I’ve last heard from you!”
Furina immediately abandons the tea set and marches over to Sandrone, invading her personal space with that god-awful, faux-Fontaine persona. She even greets her the Fontaine way, mimicking two kisses to her cheek and it takes all of Sandrone’s willpower not to curl away with a disgusted sneer. God, what a poser. This loser spends one semester in Fontaine abroad and suddenly she comes back with a new avant-garde attitude and an obsession for blue berets and hipster coffee shops. Ugh.
“You’re looking well!” Furina pulls back and gives Sandrone a once-over. “Though perhaps a mite pale. When’s the last time you gave yourself some time in the sun, cherie?” Her eyes travel down her hand and land on the trash bag. Finely manicured eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? Now that’s quite a bit of mail, wouldn’t you say?”
“Brilliant observation. You’re so right.” With the barest amount of grace, Sandrone removes herself from Furina’s cloying presence and begins to drag herself and the mail-trashbag towards the common area. “Arlecchino, can you grab the–”
“Already on it,” says Arlecchino, lifting the tea set off the kitchen counter.
“Oh!” Furina pipes up again, and with a barely restrained groan, Sandrone turns her head around. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to locate the cup you used last time, so I took the liberty of substituting it with your… I’m not quite sure what it is, your Christmas mug, I believe? I hope that’s alright with you!”
What Christmas mug– oh, god, the eye gouger cup? “That’s not mine–” Sandrone pauses and bites back her words. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she grounds out instead, turning away. “The cookies are somewhere on the third shelf. There should be enough for everyone, including you.”
“Merci! I’ll bring them in as well, leave it to moi!”
Well, at least Arlecchino’s girlfriend is eager to please. Leaving her to it, Sandrone makes her way with Arlecchino to the common area. Mentally, she calculates if they even have enough desserts for everyone at the tea party. Childe’s busy with his sports meet, so at least he won’t be hogging all the macarons like last time. Thrain’s been pretty absent recently thanks to his TA work, so he’s also a no-show. Arlecchino barely snacks and Sandrone is pretty sure that she only drinks the blood of virgins or whatever it is vampires do in movies nowadays. So really, the only ones who will be having any cookies should just be herself, Arlecchino’s girlfriend (because her sweet tooth is notorious and insatiable) and maaaaybe Rosalyne. Depends on whether she’s on one of her fad diets again.
So, yeah. They should have enough for… one, two, four people. Good.
The lights from the common area are already on, which means Rosalyne’s started without them. With a herculean effort, Sandrone drags the bag over the threshold and into the common area, the apology already working its way through her mouth.
“I know, I know, I’m late, don’t start with me. I’ve had an absolutely god-awful day, you won’t believe.”
“I’m listening.”
Sandrone nearly trips over the trash bag. Because that’s not Rosalyne’s voice replying back to her.
Sitting at the head of the table, Columbina genially tilts her head back at Sandrone.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
She’s not wearing her shades, though her eyes are still closed. But that’s not important because she’s not supposed to be here. At Sandrone's tea party. A tea party meant for her friends. And more importantly, she's not supposed to be sitting there. That’s Rosalyne’s seat. That’s her seat she’s sitting in. HER seat.
Sandrone stares. Her jaw falls open in utter shock. “You!" She steps forward, indignation burning in her throat. "What are you–!”
“Ah, Miss Columbina, I’m glad you could make it.”
Arlecchino steps past her dumbstruck form and now Sandrone aims her shock towards her dorm mate. Arlecchino invited her?! Her?! First her obnoxious girlfriend and now the new girl too?!
Arlecchino puts the tea tray down on the coffee table and begins setting out a saucer and cup in front of Columbina. “I hope you were not waiting long. We usually start in the early evening but–”
Before she can finish the sentence, Sandrone latches onto her arm and all but bodily drags her out of the common area, ignoring her grunt of disapproval. Once they’re in the hallway, she lets go and rounds on her so-called friend.
“What. The. Hell.”
She can’t even shout her frustration out because the new girl is just a handful of steps away, so she’s forced to whisper-shout instead. Arlecchino sighs.
“What seems to be the issue now?”
“Don’t give me that!” Sandrone jabs a finger back into the common area, glaring. “Your girlfriend is one thing, but you had to invite her as well?”
“I fail to see what the problem is. As I recall, you said earlier that our tea gatherings are for members of the Fatui House only,” says Arlecchino, in a way that’s like a teacher explaining a problem to a particularly slow student and Sandrone fumes at her tone. “As it turns out, Ms. Columbina is a newly minted student of our shared House. I thought it only polite to extend the same courtesy of tea to her as well.”
“She doesn’t belong here.”
“She has a name, Sandrone. Don’t be rude.”
“Yeah, and it turns out, it’s just as pretentious as your attitude right now!” Sandrone hisses back. God, so much for tea time being her de-stressing time. She’s more wound up than a clockwork meka toy. She scoffs and crosses her arms. “Columbina Hyposelenia, what a stupid name!”
Cla-tang!
Both Sandrone and Arlecchino whip their heads in the direction of the sudden racket. Furina stands in the middle of the hallway, mouth agape and empty hands outstretched in front of her, the cookie tin rolling at her feet.
“Did… did you just say Columbina Hyposelenia?”
She asks the question in a hushed, reverential whisper that has Sandrone shooting an incredulous glance over to Arlecchino. “Uh… yeah? What’s it to you?”
Faster than she can blink, Furina is up and close into Sandrone’s personal space, forcing her to take a startled step backwards.
“The Columbina Hyposelenia? Are you sure? Here? Are you serious? In your living room, of all places?”
That last part sounds vaguely like an insult. What is her problem? She says the name like it's some sort of big deal, even dropping the obnoxious faux-Fontaine accent. Sandrone jerks her thumb back into the common area. “She’s over there if you don’t believe me.”
Furina steps back, stricken. A wavering hand is placed over her heart. “Oh my gosh. Columbina Hyposelenia is here. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, this is–!”
Sandrone barely gets a warning as Furina barrels past her towards the common area. A second later, a shrill squeal echoes throughout the house.
Again. What the hell.
Sandrone turns back to Arlecchino, not bothering to hide her bewilderment this time. “Okay. I know I’ve asked you this before. But is your girlfriend okay?”
“Allow her some grace.” Arlecchino stoops down to pick up the discarded tin of cookies. “It’s not every day Furina is allowed to meet one of her idols.”
“Who, the new girl? What is she, some sort of TikTok star?”
“Opera star, actually.”
Sandrone stops. “What?” she says and Arlecchino looks at her strangely.
“Were you not aware? You are lugging what I can only assume to be her fan mail behind you in that trashbag.”
“What? No, this isn’t– there’s no way, I mean…”
There’s the beginning of a headache forming in Sandrone’s brow and she cuts words off before it can get any worse. Fan mail. That’s what she was lugging across campus and two city blocks. No freaking way. This has to be some sort of idiotic joke being played on her... But that’s not Arlecchino’s type of humor. So she's... telling the truth then. And if that’s the case– ugh! Sandrone shakes her head.
“Whatever! I don’t have time to deal with all this.” She heaves the bag filled with fan mail up and turns back to the common area. “Let’s just set the table before Rosalyne gets here.”
Arlecchino’s strange look turns confused, which is a feat in itself because it's so rare that the goth lets herself even get to that point. At the look, Sandrone halts and lets out an impatient, “what now?”
“Rosalyne left earlier this morning,” Arlecchino says slowly. “Remember? She was set to start her new opportunity in Snezhnaya today.”
Arlecchino’s words freeze Sandrone in her tracks. Her grip around the trash bag slackens.
“What? No. No, she had at least one more week of TA’ing left.” Sandrone says, even as the frustration bleeds away into an uncomfortable block within her stomach. “She told me herself.”
The confusion in Arlecchino’s expression is slowly giving way to something else. “Are you aware of what day it is?” she asks without any reproach and Sandrone has to pause, mentally calculating the days. She’s been holed up in her room working on her thesis, but there’s no way an entire week could’ve gotten away from her, right?
Right?
The uncomfortable feeling in her stomach is turning into a knot, twisting over and over again. She looks up and now the sympathy in Arlecchino’s face is unmistakable.
“We held a small farewell party for her last night. You were working and Rosalyne asked us not to disturb you. She said she would say goodbye to you in the morning, when you were free.”
Arlecchino’s tone is meant to be comforting, but to Sandrone, her words feel like a punch to the gut. In the morning? Right before her academic advisement meeting. She’d forgotten completely. Just brushed past her without so much as a thought.
Without so much as a goodbye.
And all of a sudden, there’s a part of Sandrone that just wants to cry.
“Are you alright?”
Don’t. Just. Don’t.
Sandrone takes that small, pathetic part of her and ruthlessly shoves it away. She takes the hurt and locks it away, brushing off Arlecchino’s comforting hand.
“I’m fine,” she says, and her voice sounds hollow to even her own ears. She tries again. “Right... as rain.”
Pity fills Arlecchino's gaze. “We do not need to continue with our get-together if you are feeling unwell. The others will understand.”
“Don’t tell me how I should feel,” Sandrone snarls back, with more force than she means to, and whatever budding sympathy that was in Arlecchino’s eyes freezes away.
Rosalyne’s gone. And that’s fine. Sandrone had been expecting her to leave. She just left before Sandrone was ready, but that's fine. There’s just going to be one less person at tea now, that’s all. One less person to bother her about her late-night coffee excursions. One less person to fuss over her with exasperated fondness.
One less person in her life.
That’s fine. It's fine. Everything’s fine.
Everything.
She takes a deep breath and heaves the bag up and marches towards the common area, leaving Arlecchino to follow along. “Let’s just get this tea party over with.”
In the living room, Arlecchino’s girlfriend is situated on the new girl’s right side. She’s excitedly chatting up a one-person storm and only stops when Sandrone and Arlecchino enter.
“Aha, there you two are! I was beginning to wonder if tea had been cancelled. Ms. Hyposelenia was just telling me all about herself!”
“Oh?” Arlecchino slips into the chair next to her girlfriend, easing back into her customary, genial attitude with terrifying swiftness. Without even looking, she links her hands with Furina's, settling them in her lap. Hard to believe that just seconds before she looked frustrated enough to stab Sandrone with her filed nails. “How quaint. Perhaps you could enlighten the rest of us?”
Sandrone takes the free seat on the new girl’s opposite side. The new girl turns her head in Arlecchino’s direction. “Oh, it’s nothing much,” she defers in a polite voice that has Sandrone’s lips twitching. Rosalyne should be sitting in that seat, not her. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
Furina lets out a scoff. “Ms. Hyposelenia is being modest. Allow me!”
Without so much as a warning, Arlecchino’s girlfriend leaps up from her own seat, coming to Columbina’s side. She sweeps the beret off her head in grand fashion that only a theater kid could do without dying of embarrassment.
“Ladies! And girlfriend,” she adds, sending a cheery wink in Arlecchino’s direction and the small simpering smile that appears on her face has Sandrone gagging into her own cup of tea. “May I have the eminent honor of introducing to you, the one, the only, Columbina Hyposelenia!”
She pirouettes to Columbina’s opposite side, nearly jabbing her elbow into Sandrone’s face. Sandrone glares back at her, but Furina misses it completely, too busy listing out what Sandrone can only assume is the Wikipedia article of the new girl’s accomplishments.
“Demoiselle Hyposelenia was born in Nod Krai, where she spent much of her formative years. Around the tender age of sixteen, she began making a name for herself in the opera scene and it wasn’t long before her natural-born talents were noticed by professionals. Naturally, her popularity exploded from there. Critics and experts hailed her as a prodigy of this century with a voice blessed by the Archons themselves. Why, her name alone could sell out venues months beforehand! And that’s not all! A few years after her solo debut, Demoiselle Hyposelenia released a solo album of her most well-received operatic performances that topped the Nod-Krai charts for three weeks straight! Even then, she was still performing and travelling…”
Sandrone sets her teacup down with more force than strictly necessary because Archon, she just does not care. How long is Arelcchino’s girlfriend going to go on for? Well, forget being polite. If she's going to bore Sandrone's ears off with meaningless drivel, then she might as well get something productive done in the meantime. And honestly, her heart isn’t in this tea party anymore.
Not bothering to be discreet, Sandrone reaches down, opens the trash bag and begins sifting through the fan letters for her own mail. Junk, junk, junk.
“... fast-forward to present day, where after her latest performance at the Opera Epiclese, Ms. Hyposelenia announced that she would be taking a hiatus to pursue her own studies.” Furina lets out a sigh, actually wiping away a fake tear. Sandrone barely resists rolling her eyes before going back to digging through the mountain of crap. “A heartbreaking announcement for all those following her meteoric rise in the opera world, but an understandable one. Which leads us all to this moment!” She turns back to Columbina, eyes shining with all the eagerness of a puppy waiting for its praise. “Am I missing anything?”
Columbina tilts her head politely in Furina’s direction. Throughout the whole spiel, she remained quiet, the half-smile on her face fixed in place like a harlequin mask. “Mmm, I don’t think so. You covered most of it.”
As Columbina speaks, her hands lift up. They venture forth with more confidence than Sandrone is expecting from a blind person, and wrap around the handle of her teacup. She raises the cup to her lips and takes a sip.
There’s a slight pause. The half-smile on her face quirks downwards.
“Hmm.”
“Oh, if the tea is too bitter, please help yourself to some sugar.” Furina reaches over and snatches the jar of sugar cubes, placing it in front of Columbina, who nods gratefully.
“Thank you. I’ve never had tea before,” she says, and Sandrone pauses in her thankless task to stare incredulously at her. Never had tea before? Does she live under a rock? “I wasn’t expecting it to be so bitter.”
Arlecchino lets out a chuckle. “That would be Sandrone’s doing. She prefers a heavier taste than the rest of us.”
“Oh?” Columbina turns her head in her direction and Sandrone feels a sudden, inexplicable jolt as the half-smile returns and falls right on her. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”
And then, to Sandrone’s absolute horror, she reaches over into the sugar jar and takes out not one.
Not two.
But five cubes of sugar.
“Oh, that may be a little muuuuu–”
Furina’s sentence trails off into stunned shock as Columbina takes all five cubes into her hand and drops them into her cup, one by one.
Plunk! Plu-plu-plunk!
Columbina raises the teacup back to her lips and takes a long sip. “Mm. That’s better.” She lowers the cup, lips pursing thoughtfully. “Still could use a bit more.”
Nobody at the table replies to her. Sandrone nearly chokes on her own spit. The new girl hadn’t even bothered to stir the tea or wait for the sugar to dissolve. She just… All that sugar…
No. No, don’t think about it. Just. Don’t.
Arlecchino clears her throat, breaking the stunned pause. “I see. Regardless, that’s quite the storied life you’ve lived,” she says, ever the diplomat. “Although I must confess, I am rather confused as to why you chose our college to study at. Forgive my ignorance, but I do not recall our music and performing arts curriculum to rank that highly among the nation.”
At Arlecchino’s question, Columbina shrugs. “It’s good enough,” she says, dropping another sugar cube into her tea (plunk!) and the noise raises Sandrone’s blood pressure a few extra notches. “And this school was the only one my brother was willing to let me study at.”
At the word brother, Furina perks up in her seat. “Brother… oh, do you mean Dottore Zandik? CEO of Trilune Pharmaceuticals? I thought he was only your legal guardian, not your brother. At least, that’s what I read in the tabloid blogs– I MEAN, the newspapers I s-subscribe to!”
“The tabloid blogs you read are right,” says Columbina, adding one more sugar cube (bloop) and Furina lets out an embarrassed sort of laugh. “But he insists on brother. It’s better publicity that way.”
Sandrone tunes out completely then, going back to the trasbag. At this point, she's starting to despair if she’ll ever find her damn letter, or if it even exists at all.
Desperate, she sticks her hand deep into the bag and pulls out a random envelope. This one is slightly different. It doesn’t look to be fanmail and there's an unfamiliar-looking logo of what looks like a pair of antlers surrounded by a wreath on the front. Huh. Sandrone squints at the address, mouthing it aloud.
“Frostmoon Enclave and… Church?” she mutters beneath her breath. Frostmoon. Frostmoon. Why does that sound familiar? Where has she heard that name before? Somewhere on the news… wait. “The religious cult?”
“They’re not so much a cult anymore,” Columbina remarks off-handedly and Sandrone nearly jumps out of her own skin. How the hell did she manage to hear that? “They’ve done a lot of rebranding ever since Sister Lauma took over.”
“And how do you know that?” Sandrone snaps back on reaction, only realizing too late that, dammit, she’s suckered herself back into the conversation.
The new girl’s half-smile remains static on her face. “Oh, I would know. I was born there.”
Sandrone blinks, momentarily forgetting her irritation. “You were born into a cult?” she asks, not even bothering to hide her incredulity.
“They were never a cult,” Columbina repeats lightly, Sandrone’s own incredulity sliding off her like water off a duck’s back. She toys with a sugar cube in her fingers before dropping (plunk!) it into her cup. “Just very, very, very, very devout. I left when I was fifteen but I still keep in touch with Sister Lauma.” She holds out her hand. “That letter’s probably for me. I’ll take it.”
Still bewildered, Sandrone slides the letter across the table over to her. Columbina picks it up and tucks it neatly into her lap.
“Thank you,” she nods before turning her head in Furina’s direction. “Could I trouble you for some more tea? I think I’m close to getting the right amount of sugar needed.”
Sandrone glances at the jar and… and where did all the sugar go?! There was at least a full jar when the tea party first started and now there’s just a quarter of them left!
“Okay, that’s it, I’m cutting you off–” but Arlecchino sends her a warning look from across the table and Sandrone bites her tongue, fuming. Forget it, forget it, not worth it.
Satisfied, Arlecchino turns back to Columbina, who is in the middle of adding the few extra cubes (plu-plu-plunk!) into her refilled cup. “Well, that’s quite the charming life you've lived so far, Ms. Columbina. In any case, let me be the first to formally and officially welcome you to our Fatui House. Should you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask…”
Sandrone quickly tunes out the pleasantries and turns her attention back to the trash bag. There are only a few letters left that she hasn’t sorted out. She leans over and snatches one at random.
This envelope is smaller than the fan letters and definitely less garish. Sandrone flips it around and her heart rate spikes when she sees the address written in the corner.
Fontaine Research Institute.
Jackpot.
Sandrone tears the envelope open, not bothering to be nice about it. She takes out the letter, her hands trembling only slightly, and begins scanning the words.
…Thank you for your application… many qualified candidates…
Carefully reviewed… selection process…
Sandrone’s eyes go down the paragraphs. She reaches the last sentence.
Unfortunately, we cannot offer you a position for the summer internship program at this time. We wish you all the best in your future endeavours.
Sandrone stares. She re-reads the last few lines again.
Unfortunately, we cannot offer you a position for the summer internship program at this time.
Sandrone lowers the letter. Her hands fall into her lap.
Huh. That’s funny.
Actually, no. That’s not funny.
That’s wrong. That’s so wrong.
Because what do you mean her application didn’t make the cut?
What do you mean she failed?
The sound of paper rustling cuts through her disbelief. Sandrone blinks and looks down to see her hands shaking, the rejection letter (that's what it is, a rejection, because she's not good enough) crinkling into a ball.
We wish you all the best in your future endeavours.
The shaking gets worse. Belatedly, she commands her fingers to relax and when they fail to listen to her command, she closes her eyes and sucks in a sharp breath instead.
That’s fine. So what if she didn’t make the cut. It’s not like all her hopes for a future after school were riding on this internship. It’s fine. There will be more chances in the future.
It doesn’t have to feel like a loss. It doesn’t.
Her hands. Won’t stop shaking.
They need to stop.
Just stop.
STOP.
“This was lovely.”
Sandrone’s eyes fly open.
Columbina sets down her tea cup and flashes her half (fake) smile to the room, sitting in the spot that’s not hers (it’s Rosalyne’s spot, get out of her spot). She picks up a sugar cube (the last one in the jar) and toys with it in her fingers.
“I hope you can invite me to tea again."
She drops the cube into the tea.
Plunk!
And Sandrone snaps.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh myyyyyyyyyy god, whatareyouDOING?!”
Everyone at the table jumps at her screech but Sandrone is absolutely done with playing nice. The day has gone from bad to worse to abject hell, and she’s about to make it everyone else’s problem one way or ANOTHER. She leaps up from her chair and snatches the teacup out of Columbina’s stunned hands.
“It’s Sumeru Darjeeling, it’s supposed to be bitter, you savage!! Were you raised in a barn?! Never mind that, what did you even drink growing up? Grass?!” Sandrone shoves the teacup back onto the tray, upsetting a fair amount of liquid before jabbing a furious finger in the new girl’s face. “Listen here. One sugar for your cup is acceptable. Two is pushing it. Thirty-six and counting is an obscenity! Apologize to the tea! Now!”
Stunned silence. The only sounds that can be heard are Sandrone’s angry, heaving breaths.
A second passes.
Two.
Then.
“Pft.”
Columbina’s left cheek balloons outward. She turns away.
Sandrone’s jaw falls open.
“Did you just laugh at me?!”
“No.” Columbina raises a closed fist to her mouth and oh my gods, she is, she’s totally holding back her laughter!! “N…n-no.”
“You…!”
But then Columbina throws her head back fully and laughs, the porcelain mask shattering into something light and warm and Sandrone stops, losing her train of thought completely.
"I-I'm not," Columbina giggles. She brushes a thumb beneath an eyelid, wiping away a tear and Sandrone catches a glimpse of her eyes, a hint of indigo that flashes out like a star. "R-Really."
A jolt runs through Sandrone. She swallows thickly, arm falling limply to her side.
"Y-You!"
“Alright, I do believe that is quite enough fun for today.”
Out of the blue, Arlecchino appears behind Sandrone, startling the everloving life out of her. She grabs her by the shoulders and lifts her up as easily as a mother cat would lift up a squawking, petulant kitten and begins frog-marching her towards the door.
Sandrone struggles like she’s never struggled before. “Arlecchino, you let go of me right now or I swear to god, I will personally shove the teapot right up your–!”
“Duly noted,” Arlecchino remarks, dry as the desert, before she unceremoniously drops Sandrone to the floor outside the common area. Sandrone whips around, ready to pounce, but Arlecchino quickly takes a step back. “Might I suggest a walk in the meantime? Until your temper improves at the very least.”
“Oh, I’ll show you a temper!” But the door is already closing, cutting off her threats.
The last thing she sees before the door closes fully is Columbina. Her half smile has broadened into a full-blown grin.
“I’m sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities, Sandrone. I’ll apologize to the tea as well, don’t worry.”
She raises her hand and waves.
“Bye bye.”
And with that, the door clicks shut, leaving Sandrone alone to stare in slack-jawed shock.
Did she just… Did she just… get kicked out…
Of her own tea party?!
There’s no way they would– the sheer nerve–!
Oh forget this.
Sandrone whips around. She stomps over to the front door and sucks in a deep breath.
“PULONIA! WALKIES!”
--
They walk for 2 hours, three times around the entire campus. Pulonia, at least, has the time of his life while Sandrone fumes away and DOESN'T think about tinkling giggles and deep-indigo eyes, she doesn't, okay, NOT EVEN ONCE.
Columbina Hyposelenia. This isn't over. Not by a long shot!!