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[nic gregory]

And every girl that I walk around
Seems to be more of an illusion than the last one I found
Oh well

____________________________

If Hoffman Academy had been in New York, it would have been his dream school. His old school Albers didn't have a whole art house with different rooms, so that no one ever walked in on you when you were in the zone, as Nic liked to put it. This was at least one plus that Hoffman gave Nic. Although he had a hard time accepting it all. He knew his parents were spending a lot on this school, although the scholarship had helped quite a bit in the means of money, his parents just liked to pretend they were poor they weren't actually eating dirt or anything. The only reason that Nic could really think made him hate Hoffman so much, was because it hadn't been his choice to be sent here. His parents wanted to pretend that they had never had any sons. Sending Nic away was just the solution they needed to solve that little problem. So they could grieve for their eldest in peace.

Just as long as Nic kept his mind off of his parents and his dead brother, he was fine at Hoffman. The friend department was a little slower than Albers because this school was much more competitive than Albers. It was like you didn't give one hundred and forty percent daily you might as well want to go. Plus there was so much talent here. Every where you could see the talent. One of the best places for that was where Nic was at the moment. He had his leather bag in his hand and was making his way through the art house, the walls cramed full of paintings of former students, and pictures done by teacher. Even a few famous works, but they had their own hall for that.

Nic moved through the halls quietly being respectful to all the other painters who were hard at work. He could see the classes that were going on as he walked past, he saw the painters were doing portraits of each other. He heard the teacher yell at one of the photography students to close the door to the dark room. Nic chuckled as he went along. He skipped up the stairs in a manner of speaking, and made it to the much more peaceful rooms of the top floor. After checking to see that the room was empty, Nic slipped into an unused classrooms that teachers would let the kids use to work on projects of their own. Nic liked the freedom. He pulled his ipod dock out of his bag and set his ipod up, a little Cat Stevens was in order at the moment. He rolled up the sleeves on his dark dress shirt. He wasn't even sure what he was going to work on. So for now he just stood and looked out the window hoping inspiration would strike soon.

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[Shane McCain]

It's the smiling on the package
It's the faces in the sand
It's the thought that moves you upwards

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Shane had practically been living in the art house for the past two days. She’d wake up at unearthly hours to beat the sunlight and then she’d slip into her dorm in hopes not to wake up her two roommates after the blanket of night set over the academy. There was no way Shane would forgive herself if any bit of inspiration left her thoughts because she was too busy sleeping the day away. Of course she made sure to shower and grab a bite to eat; although it worked in favor for some, the whole grungy artist look wasn’t really her thing. Other than the few minutes those actions took, the rest of her precious time was spent wisely. Since Gabriel traveled back home for the weekend, the young brunette had this sudden muse. It wasn’t as if he was holding her back from her work but something about the air seemed lifted. Shane didn’t have to pencil anyone into her schedule except her art and at the moment it seemed permanent. However, it was probably best that this new insight was occurring while he was away because she was sure her confined behavior would spark an unwanted argument. It was no lie that things were really good when they were good but recently the two had been getting on each others nerves. They had experienced disagreements before but nothing like the current. Just before he left actually, they had been quarreling about something trivial and Gabe had fixed his fingers tight around her weak wrist, leaving it limp. He hadn’t done it on purpose and at the hint of her whimper, he released his hold. They didn’t wait any time before making up and Shane forgave him without a second thought. She made sure to wear a jacket for the rest of the time begin before the bruise went away; there was no need to show off the accident.

Her agenda was on task as she made her way over to the art house just like every day that weekend. She had actually been occupying the building earlier that morning but she had decided to step out. While she was gone, Shane made some possible plans with her roommate, Alexis, so she promised herself she wouldn’t stay much longer. With a flick of her fingers, she brushed off the rest of crumbling clay from her hands in order to leave the door unmarked. Ceramics was more than just creating pots and pans, which seemed to be the generally assumption of her neighbors; not here at Hoffman Academy but the individuals back home that she had just nearly escaped a year ago. Shane had an indescribable connection with her new found friends, most likely due to their environment. The majority of the faces around campus had a set goal in life that involved so much creativity it was impossible not to click. Their differences were still present because they were all unique in their own way, no doubt about it.

She tip toed past the afternoon classes that were present, most for painting. Shane had always enjoyed the brush but it didn’t feel the same way about her. No matter how hard she tried to expand her horizons, Shane’s only true calling was with clay. After she had made it up a decent flight of stairs her eyes were in sure for the room that she had been occupying earlier that morning. Most of her main materials were impossible to carry on her person so she made sure to tuck them away in a familiar room. Her feet stopped moving as her eyes recalled the room number in front of her and she tapped on the indentifying digits with her index finger. When she popped her head through the door she noticed that her materials weren’t along anymore. An unfamiliar gent was standing near the window, his eyes darting from side to side maybe in search for something. Shane balled her hand up in a fist and knocked on the door frame hoping not to startle him. “Looking for something?”[/b] she questioned as she moved toward the cabinet on the right side of him. She had stashed her belongings in it without even thinking someone else might encounter the room. “Just left some of my things in here,” she mumbled, her voice engulfed in the cabinet doors. [/font]
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[nic gregory]

And every girl that I walk around
Seems to be more of an illusion than the last one I found
Oh well

____________________________

Nic had never been a dancer, correction. Nic had never danced a day in his life. It was one of those things that he could help but be self-conscious about because you knew that you weren’t good at it. That made coming to Hoffman such an experience. At Albers there were no dancers there were only artists and poets although they were rarely separated from one another because Albers had such a thing about keeping everyone together so that they could remain close and grow by knowing one another. It was strange going from the most hippie sort of place in the world back to his home in Georgia where there were still all those conservatives who thought that artists were a waste of space unless they painted lovely landscapes of some sort. But Hoffman was so much more diverse than Albers there was every type of art practiced here. On his way over here he had heard the drama students reading a scene from Romeo and Juliet but using the trees as a balcony and he had seen the ballroom dancers, or so he had assumed, in the grass practicing probably because the dance studio was being used. He saw other artists like himself along the sidewalks playing with different lighting and there were even a few jam sessions going on with the musicians.

The only discipline that wasn’t really present were the singers but Nic couldn’t help that. Ever since had arrived here the singers always seemed to think that they were in a class all their own. Which they probably were, although he rarely heard them because they didn’t leave the practice hall that much and didn’t practice outside like most of the other people. It’s not that the thought that they were stuck up or anything to gay like that, they were just all up on their high horse. I mean how many singers really made it in this world, he guessed you had to be competitive about it if you really wanted to make it. Then again look at everyone else, how many ballroom dancers, drummers, and piccoloist really made it? I’ll tell you not that many. The artist had to be the most mellow of all the groups, unless you counted the drugged up musicians but most of them were either depressed or had an anger issue so you couldn’t really call them mellow now could you. Nic sighed still trying to find what he was looking for, he clasp his hands behind his back thinking for a few more moments before turning around quickly.

He was just in time to see a girl standing at the door, she knocked on the doorframe before coming steadily in. So much for privacy, but Nic wasn’t mad he had never been one of those people who were absolutely antisocial when it came to his art. Interruptions were just another part of the process. If you were alone all of the time, Nic knew that he would get bored and just loose his muse. He watched her as she walked over to the cabinet. ”Yes, my muse. I seem to have misplaced it,” his slight Souther draw coming out that even six years in New York couldn’t fix. ”Please don’t leave on my account. I’m about as useful as a bump on the long as of now,” he said sighing before turning back to the window and watching the students moving about.

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