Alex looked at the bottle before him with an incredulous look on his face.
Drink me was printed in near script on the sticker on the bottle.
The broad-shouldered, brown haired, brown eyed college freshman was American, but he was no fool, and when his professor had offered a berth on his spring break trip to England, he’d eagerly accepted. He got on well with Professor Charles, despite having limited interest in mathematics, and he wasn’t really sure why he had been offered the spot. But the prof explained that he was there to fulfill a university obligation; the prof had access to an endowment that specified the trip had to include at least one student. So he mostly used the fund to take a trip back “home” to the sprawling countryside near Oxford, and used his own judgement as to which lucky student got to fly to England, train out to Oxford, and spend a week learning about something or other that, truth be told, could just as easily be done in class back home. The rest of the time he would be a “research assistant”.
The small cottage to which he and Prof Charles were assigned for the week was crammed full of knickknacks and books, and it was obvious the prof had stayed there before. He kept sending the boy on errands with unnerving specificity, such as “go find the third bookshelf in the blue bedroom, fourth shelf, left hand side,” or “there should be more teacups in a crate in the attic”. But once that first morning was done, Prof Charles announced he was going to be busy immediately after lunch, but that Alex should feel free to explore.
“Just don’t be late. Tea is at five.”
But he had fallen asleep by the riverbank and it was darker than it had seemed.
That’s when he realized he had zero clue how to get back. He wandered for half an hour until he spotted a cute but excitable university lad rushing down a side street, and followed him just long enough to get further lost.
Drink me was printed in near script on the sticker on the bottle.
The broad-shouldered, brown haired, brown eyed college freshman was American, but he was no fool, and when his professor had offered a berth on his spring break trip to England, he’d eagerly accepted. He got on well with Professor Charles, despite having limited interest in mathematics, and he wasn’t really sure why he had been offered the spot. But the prof explained that he was there to fulfill a university obligation; the prof had access to an endowment that specified the trip had to include at least one student. So he mostly used the fund to take a trip back “home” to the sprawling countryside near Oxford, and used his own judgement as to which lucky student got to fly to England, train out to Oxford, and spend a week learning about something or other that, truth be told, could just as easily be done in class back home. The rest of the time he would be a “research assistant”.
The small cottage to which he and Prof Charles were assigned for the week was crammed full of knickknacks and books, and it was obvious the prof had stayed there before. He kept sending the boy on errands with unnerving specificity, such as “go find the third bookshelf in the blue bedroom, fourth shelf, left hand side,” or “there should be more teacups in a crate in the attic”. But once that first morning was done, Prof Charles announced he was going to be busy immediately after lunch, but that Alex should feel free to explore.
“Just don’t be late. Tea is at five.”
But he had fallen asleep by the riverbank and it was darker than it had seemed.
That’s when he realized he had zero clue how to get back. He wandered for half an hour until he spotted a cute but excitable university lad rushing down a side street, and followed him just long enough to get further lost.