[ For a moment he considers offering to replace the wipes or something, but when Clint puts them in his bag he lets it be, brown eyes moving from said bag to Clint's forearm then his shoulder then the amicable expression on his face. Again Arthur is struck with the impression of someone who is just nice, even as he shakes his head in response. ]
Nah. Well, kinda. Have to wait and see if they'll let me take the exam late. Was supposed to be there ten minutes ago, but...
[ He gestures back in the direction the other guys went. Suffice to say he got detoured away from his goal of class B-301, but like hell is he going to go to summer school for something that isn't his fault. He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the corridor floor, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans before he draws one out again to adjust his glasses. ]
What about you? On your way somewhere?
[ In the neighborhood suggests to Arthur 'passing through' but he's not sure he's right of course, more fishing into conversation - something he isn't overly given toward doing in person too much but there's no one else around and maybe it's somewhat the relief talking. There's no invisible pressure here, a thing that when present throws him off entirely even if he's shit at explaining it. Moot now though, in its absence. When he got here he expected more of the same as with his old school - just different dust covers - but he's found a bit more footing than he'd expected and he's not sure what to think of it, hasn't been able to bring himself to ask anyone what their opinion might be on it, or whether it matters at all.
Without thinking, he wipes the back of his hand across his face and scowls at the sting of dragging it over the cut there, slips that hand back into his pocket after all. ]
no subject
Nah. Well, kinda. Have to wait and see if they'll let me take the exam late. Was supposed to be there ten minutes ago, but...
[ He gestures back in the direction the other guys went. Suffice to say he got detoured away from his goal of class B-301, but like hell is he going to go to summer school for something that isn't his fault. He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the corridor floor, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans before he draws one out again to adjust his glasses. ]
What about you? On your way somewhere?
[ In the neighborhood suggests to Arthur 'passing through' but he's not sure he's right of course, more fishing into conversation - something he isn't overly given toward doing in person too much but there's no one else around and maybe it's somewhat the relief talking. There's no invisible pressure here, a thing that when present throws him off entirely even if he's shit at explaining it. Moot now though, in its absence. When he got here he expected more of the same as with his old school - just different dust covers - but he's found a bit more footing than he'd expected and he's not sure what to think of it, hasn't been able to bring himself to ask anyone what their opinion might be on it, or whether it matters at all.
Without thinking, he wipes the back of his hand across his face and scowls at the sting of dragging it over the cut there, slips that hand back into his pocket after all. ]