After a long day spent reading all manner of books at the RhyDin public library, Glenn finally returned to his room in the late afternoon. He opened it, slung his knapsack off to the side, and quickly surveyed his surroundings. There was a beat-up, cheap looking desk that was currently covered in blocks of wood, nails that had spilled out of a box, pencils, rulers, and loose sheets of graphing paper he'd torn out of his notebook, complete with various designs for furniture and business cards. Glenn's dresser, equally scratched up, had a pile of new black and white t-shirts he had bought over the weekend piled on top of it, the smell of fresh cotton still on them. Most of the rest of his clothes were scattered on the floor, or draped over his desk chair; his dresser drawers were mostly empty and unused. The closet door was hanging open, revealing a ratty-looking black overcoat, a equally black cloak that looked too big for him, and a slew of unused hangers. The sheets on the bed were tangled up at the end of the bed. It'd been at least a week since he'd last attempted to make the bed.
Glenn sat down at the desk, his thoughts still racing. He could pick one of the books in his knapsack out and peruse it, but his eyes were already feeling more than a bit tired from his previous reading. But what else could he do? He wasn't hungry yet, and anyways, the Inn wouldn't have food ready for a while. He didn't have any projects to work on, or at least, nothing he could do in a small room with the limited tools he had available. He sat there, staring down at his desk, tapping an index finger against his forehead. Suddenly, he bolted upright and snapped his fingers. That's it! I'll start writing letters home now! I've been in RhyDin, what, six months now? They're probably wondering what I'm up to. The grin on his face faded somewhat at his next thought. If they even care at all. Glenn searched his desk quickly, then his knapsack, finally finding what he wanted. His notebook of graphing paper. He scrutinized it for a moment, then tossed it onto his bed. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. He was writing for the first time in months. The paper he used had to be nicer than that. And he should use a nice pen too. But he didn't have those things! The answer came to him quickly, and it caused him to sigh a little bit. He would just have to go out and buy some stationery. Plain white paper without lines or a grid. And a nice quill pen, too, and an ink stopper. Or maybe a fountain pen. Glenn couldn't decide, and he knew the only way he'd be able to make a decision was in person. He walked over to his closet, gathered up his cloak, and made his way out the door.
Glenn sat down at the desk, his thoughts still racing. He could pick one of the books in his knapsack out and peruse it, but his eyes were already feeling more than a bit tired from his previous reading. But what else could he do? He wasn't hungry yet, and anyways, the Inn wouldn't have food ready for a while. He didn't have any projects to work on, or at least, nothing he could do in a small room with the limited tools he had available. He sat there, staring down at his desk, tapping an index finger against his forehead. Suddenly, he bolted upright and snapped his fingers. That's it! I'll start writing letters home now! I've been in RhyDin, what, six months now? They're probably wondering what I'm up to. The grin on his face faded somewhat at his next thought. If they even care at all. Glenn searched his desk quickly, then his knapsack, finally finding what he wanted. His notebook of graphing paper. He scrutinized it for a moment, then tossed it onto his bed. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. He was writing for the first time in months. The paper he used had to be nicer than that. And he should use a nice pen too. But he didn't have those things! The answer came to him quickly, and it caused him to sigh a little bit. He would just have to go out and buy some stationery. Plain white paper without lines or a grid. And a nice quill pen, too, and an ink stopper. Or maybe a fountain pen. Glenn couldn't decide, and he knew the only way he'd be able to make a decision was in person. He walked over to his closet, gathered up his cloak, and made his way out the door.