Who: Charlie Dalton and OPEN to people who want to join in. GROUP THREAD. When: The day after this Where: The library, it might move location later. What: The first meeting of The Dead Poets Society. Warnings: None.
Charlie was the first to arrive. He had picked out a couple of books, and brought along the book he had found at the market. Everything was set, reading for folks to arrive. If they were going to arrive.
The thing that had been so memorable about his old group, was that they were such close friends. Here, he felt like he didn't know anyone at all. And that wasn't living was it? He wanted to reach out and get to know his fellow man. Learn from them and teach them. Live, love and learn from them. But everyone seemed so closed off. It wasn't all that different to his old school in that aspect. Now he wanted to see if he could connect with anyone. Bring back that Dead Poets spirit.
While he had hoped to see some of his old friends again, he was glad they weren't trapped with him in anther universe. It was a terrible thing, to be parted from his home, but at the same time, what an experience it was! They had barely touched space in his time, not compared to where he was now. It was awe inspiring. Beautiful.
Placing his book down on top of the small stack he had set up, he took a seat on the floor. No chairs, nothing like that. He wanted to recreate the vibe the cave had. Everyone just relaxing, no chairs to fix their posture. He had set out a blanket on the floor and some cushions. In the middle, there was a bowl with some snacks inside, and to the side, he had set a bottle of whiskey he had managed to get a hold of. Beside the bowl of snacks, stacked up, sat a few small sketch pads. The idea being that they could pick them up if they felt inspired and draw or write something. Make something. There were coloured pencils, pens, which he personally found interesting, and a couple of sticks of charcoal. Over to the side, sat an old looking saxophone. Charlie used to play. He loved the way it sounded, especially compared to the clarinet, which his parents had pushed him into learning how to play. Now that he was free from all that, he could play the sax wherever and whenever he wanted to without consequence. At least from his controlling parents.
Picking the instrument up, he smiled to himself and gently tapped the keys, listening to the clacking sound they made. Heck, even if no one showed up, he could have fun on his own. Sit and play the sax, and remember the times he felt truly free whilst being imprisoned.