Meanwhile, downstairs & elsewhere

Beatrice Caulkland looked up involuntarily at the ceiling, the loud thunk and dull sound of running water coming from above. She placed her bookmark between the pages, set the book she had been reading down, turned off her reading light, and stretched her back. The dressing gown she had on riding up from just above her knees to mid-thigh in the process of the long stretch.

She drops off her bed, doing her best not to make too much noise, her eyes flitting over to the sleeping shape under the heavy covers of the other bed in the otherwise rather dark room. She went into their shared kitchen, filled the electric kettle, and set it to boil.

“Black tea seems right,” she muses, sitting down at the crowded kitchen table. On a wall hangs a dry-erase board with BOOK CLUB ACTIVITIES written across the top. A movie night tonight, with Felicity promising to make it a double feature by borrowing a DVD from the Anime and Manga Club to compensate for squirreling the original plan for the movie night last night. She smiled, and then the electric kettle clicked, wisps of steam wafting from the spout.

She stood, making herself a cup of tea and then stepping out onto the balcony to sip it out of doors, her favorite. She steps out, soft feet on cold, poorly painted wood. She moseys up to the wrought iron railing of the balcony, resting her elbows on the cold metal, and taking in the warm sunshine of an otherwise chilly day. Chilly enough that she can feel her nipples start to harden and start to poke through the thin cotton of the dressing gown she has on. The only thing that she has on, she thinks.

She averts her eyes as a student walks past her balcony, just a few feet away, and she feels her thighs clench together. Her insides tense and her heart races. If her nipples weren’t hard before, they certainly are now.

Meanwhile, the student, totally oblivious to her, walks on.

For a long moment Beatrice remains, lingering on the balcony, energized more by the risk of exposure than the tea, which she sips with slightly shaking hands. A breeze blows past, and lifts her gown up to her mid-thigh, tickling her soft flesh with cold air, enough to finally jolt Beatrice back to the real world.

She beats a hasty retreat back inside, closing the balcony door behind her. She goes to sit down in the living room among the books, so many books, the tarot cards strewn about the place, some being used as bookmarks, the candles, the fire alarm covered by a plastic bag, the posters over the windows, RGB string lights across the ceiling, and the floor occupied by their magic circle.

She sips her tea, repeatedly crossing and uncrossing her legs, flustered and working over the latent excitement in her.

“That was risky,” she breathes in, the corners of her mouth turned up into a slight smile and taking another sip of her tea. Her eyes flick to the door to the kitchen as she sets her tea cup down, uncrossing her legs and spreading her knees just a little. And then a little more. She put a gentle hand between her legs, the soft fabric of her dressing gown pressing against her mound. She let out a soft groan.

“Nope, no, can’t,” she whispered, looking at the kitchen door again and clamping her legs firmly closed. She sighed. One thing, the only thing really, that she missed about being back home was the privacy of having her own room. Having a roommate was bad enough, but having a roommate who did not get out much made things so much worse!

“Are you sure that this isn’t kinda risky?” Kathrine asked, looking back down the empty, echoing off-white corridor of the university science building.

“Why would it?” the other woman, hunched over, wearing a dowdy sweatshirt and old pants, flicking through the cards in her shoulder bag. Her hair would have been as long as Kathrine’s, but was wiry and curling up and around her head with a few gray streaks running through it, giving the impression of painted steel wool. Her thick glasses gave her face a sharp and angular shape, unintentionally androgynous. She tried one of her cards, pressing it against the card-scanner of the door.

The card scanner blinks red and chirped. The woman frowns, dropping that card back into her bag and rummaging for another.

“Aren’t the labs supposed to be closed on Saturdays? You know, no supervision,” Kathrine replied, rubbing her hands together, cold and concerned about rule breaking.

“They are,” the other woman replied, “here hold this,” she added, passing Kathrine her coffee tumbler with “I ♥ Mad Science” printed on the side.

She tried another card, holding it up to the reader. The scanner blinks red and then green, chirping twice.

“There we go,” the woman grins, opening the door and flicking on the light switch. Slowly, the intense fluorescent lights kick on, bathing the room in a glaring white light.

Kathrine’s eyes flick around, looking over the rows of unfamiliar medical and scientific equipment bathed in harsh light. The science building certainly had a far different, more clinical look and feel to it then the engineering building.

“So,” the woman says, setting her bag down on a chair and rummaging through it, “from the text you sent me, it was something something sweet smelling?”

“Sort of, yeah,” Kathrine replies, sitting down on a swiveling stool nearby, “but also real, real, oh how do I put it?”

Kathrine scrunched her face, thinking back.

“Earthy? Or at least the first one I smelled was,” Kathrine finally says.

“Alright,” the woman replies as she finally found and took out a set of keys and went to a fridge with the words “Aromachology Samples: DO NOT OPEN BIOHAZARD WARNING!” inked onto a piece of masking tape across the front.

Kathrine felt her eyebrows raise as the woman slotted the key into the lock and looked over at her.

“What?” she asks.

“Biohazard?” Kathrine asks.

“That’s just to stop people from stealing,” the woman replies, setting the lock and key on top of the fridge.

“Sure, whatever you say Irene,” Kathrine sighs.

“Listen,” Irene scoffs, “It’s a schoolwide policy, sample theft is a real problem these days and we all have our part to play to prevent it.”

“Isn’t this sample theft, though?” Kathrine replies.

“Not really,” Irene shrugs, “we aren’t using the samples, just borrowing them.”

“Sure,” Kathrine replies, watching Irene produce a bunch of plastic medical cups with labels and bio-warning symbols on the side.

“Actually,” Irene says, “while the samples thaw, you want to know why they’re being so particular about the sample security policy these days?”

“Sure,” Kathrine replies with a shrug.

“So,” Irene starts, “apparently somebody down in the narcotics section of the **** lab―”

“The school has a **** lab?” Kathrine asks, recoiling.

“It’s in the medical building but yeah,” Irene nods.

Kathrine blinks, “well.”

“Yeah,” Irene starts, pulling a clipboard out of her bag, “anyways apparently figured out that they don’t lock the sample fridge in the **** lab, and somebody stole a whole bunch of ecstasy.”

“Wh- why did they have ecstasy in the lab?” Kathrine sputters, “Isn’t that highly illegal?”

“As far as I understand, they needed it for **** testing,” Irene replied with a small grin, “you need samples of the actual **** for them to make sure you aren’t getting false positives on a testing for a sample, and apparently nobody bothered to lock them up and poof. One day they were gone. And that was lab made **** too, really pure stuff.”

“Wow,” Kathrine replies.

“Yeah,” Irene replies, “you got any fun stories like that from the engineering college?”

“Not really,” Kathrine shrugged, “although I think every chemical engineer I’ve met learned how to cook meth in O-chem.”

Irene scoffs, “Yeah I believe that, I remember organic chemistry very well,” she picks up a plastic cup and watches the contents slosh around for a second, “the samples should be warm enough now, you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kathrine shrugs.

“Alright then,” Irene says, picking up her clipboard and rustling through her bag for a pen. And then she pulls out a surgical mask, putting it on. Then she pulls out an eye mask, “here,” she says, offering it to Kathrine.

“What?” Kathrine flatly asks, “what is this for?” she adds, brows furrowed and eyes narrow.

“Standard procedure,” Irene replies, “depriving your other senses will enhance the one we’re trying to test, now come on I don’t have all day to do this,” she adds, adjusting her surgical mask.

Kathrine looks at Irene, studying her face, before relenting, starting to put the eye mask on.

“Scoot closer, first,” Irene says, lining the samples up along the lab table.

“Sure,” Kathrine replies, scooting on the lab stool closer to the lab table and putting the eye mask on.

“Ready to start?” Irene asks, removing the lid of the first sample with an audible pop, eyeing the label closely and then cross-referencing the freshly printed out spreadsheet on her clipboard, already bordered with small notes.

Kathrine lets out a heavy sigh, clearing her head, and says “ready.”