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Fléin shuffled up to the Registrar's office, carefully avoiding thinking about A Slan or offering any insight into his theological beliefs. It was no good dwelling on the past, after all.
His insides wept, but he ignored them. What use were they anyway?
When he entered the Registrar's office, it was empty. He trampled up to the front where a fierce looking woman was looking fiercely over her glasses at him.
"Oy! You there!" she barked at him, setting her jowls aquiver. Fléin watched them wobbling as she launched a verbal tirade. "Don't mope! Moping should be done outside of University! This is a mope-free environment! And look at your beard, dearie me, get yourself a haircut!"
Fléin rested his head in his arms on her desk and let her continue in this manner. He wasn't sure how long it lasted. The pain inside wouldn't stop hurting.
Finally, he realised she had stopped and was staring at him. He stirred, got up, begged her pardon, didn't get any, asked what course he would be taking, and was told about the times and places for the Self Defense For Short People qualification.
He half absorbed this information before trampling to his new dorm - it was empty, his roommate was evidently out - and curling into bed. He knew it was futile trying to sleep A Slan's death off, but tried anyway.
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