////Closed Thread: Room C

Gunnar stopped in front of the third door in the men's wing of the dormitory. Embossed on the heavy wood was large black 'C' as plain as a rancher's brand on the flank of a white steer. “C for cowboy,” muttered Gunnar, remembering what the younger man assigning the rooms had said, as he shifted the weight of his duffel slung over his shoulder. The man reached for the door handle with a calloused hand, closing his well-worn fingers over the equally worn metal. Where his fingers were warm though, the handle was cold. It was a refreshing chill that seeped beneath the skin and cooled the tired, tense muscles of his hand after having worked to clean up the closet in the registration office.

Giving the knob a twist, he listened to the click and scrape of the aged mechanism set in the door. Gunnar had known that the place would be old, given that it was a castle, but at the same time, he hadn't realized just how old. The cool stone-walled halls —a definite contrast to the heat of Montana's eastern plains during the day but yet reminiscent of the cool nights—were refreshing to the ex-ranchhand, but at the same time, he wondered how cold the stone halls might become if they were already the same temperature as a cool summer night in his hometown. He gave the door a push to open it, and the sight of antiquated furniture helped to yet again put into perspective the age of the dwelling. It also put into perspective the difference between the lifestyle he left and the one he was entering. The furnishings were made of beautifully carved wood with sweeping designed and shapes etched into the rich Irish Elm wood. But their opulence only made Gunnar shrug his shoulders in discomfort. The furniture just didn't mesh well with the cowboy. He was used to a bed roll laid across prairie dirt with his knapsack as his pillow. The four poster, canopied bed with drapes seemed a bit much for him. Even when he had been back home instead of out on the plains with the cattle, he'd slept in just a small twin bed of a simple, wooden frame. It hadn't been much to look at, but it had been cheap and more importantly functional. He hadn't even entered the room yet and he was put off by the furniture he could see from the outside. Grimacing, he steeled himself and entered.

It only got worse. There was even more furniture crafted from rich elm wood. As he peered around the room, Gunnar set down his duffel, realizing that he had no idea where to begin in terms of unpacking and putting away his belongings. The simple fact was that there were so many pieces of furniture, including at least two dressers and one large wardrobe, for him to conceive of using. It seemed that for a little while, he might just be 'living out of the suitcase' as the saying went, though he'd be doing it in a more literal sense. As he glanced around the room, he realized that yet another piece of furniture, which he had not recognized at first due to the large mirror that comprised it from waist high to roughly the top of his head, was another dresser. The rest of the furniture, consisting of a desk and chair, seemed practical, albeit a bit too extravagant for his tastes. Walking over to the bed, he pulled aside the curtain, the velvet curtains so soft against his fingertips that for a second, he was scantly sure he'd actually grabbed them. Beyond them was another curtain of thin lace. “This place is frillier than a calico queen,” he muttered, using language he'd picked up partly from other ranch hands, partly from the old picture shows, and partly from the western stories his mother had him read when he was a kid.

Gunnar had thought he could handle the unnecessary comforts of the room until he sat down on the edge of the bed. He nearly sunk half a foot into the soft goose down mattress, his booted feet lifting right up off the floor as he let out a gruff grunt. Gunnar planted both hands on the bed and righted himself, feet setting firmly on the floor again. “This ain't gonna do,” he stated to the room as he stared at the various furnishings with squinted eyes.

Gunnar rose from the bed with a shake of his head. There wasn't any use in unpacking yet since he didn't plan on using the overly opulent furnishings. For the time being, he left his stuff in the duffel which he had dropped just to the left of the door upon entering the room. With every intention of finding someone with whom he could talk to about getting his room rearranged, he set out to explore Caislin Hallows. Even though the few belongings he had in the duffel we relatively worthless, the ex-ranch hand turned after he had exited the room and pulled the door shut. He drew the antique key from his pocket, the coarse metal cool on his calloused skin, and slid it into the lock. With a gentle twist of the key, the tumblers clicked into place. A small smile split Gunnar's lips. Something about the ancient mechanism pleased him, even though the room beyond the portal didn't. He lifted hand and traced his fingertips down the smooth, polished birch of the door. It wasn't paneling. The cool wood beneath his callouses was solid all the way through to the other side. Gunnar trailed his fingers across to the wrought iron hinges and he shivered from how chill the metal was from the dank castle corridors. Drawing his hand back, Gunnar turned and started his journey with the soft clomp of his boots across the carpet covered stone.
[exit]

After much exploring of Caislin Hallows, Gunnar returned to his room. Unlocking the door and turning the handle, he let the slab of birch swing inward on its iron hinges. As the door opened to reveal the room, his gaze washed over everything inside. Even after having spent time away from it, he still had no interest in the furnishings or decorations. His green eyes settled on the curtain for his canopy bed. The drapery was of no use to him, but as he watched them flutter with the gentle draft created by the opening of the door, he thought that he knew someone who might be thrilled to have them. Gunnar entered the room, the thuds of his heavy boots on the floor muffled by the thick rugs that lay across the stone.

"Small things first," he thought to himself as he crouched down beside his duffel. It lay just left of the doorway from where he had dropped it when he'd entered the room the first time. He pinched the zipper tab between the calloused tips of his index finger and thumb and tugged it down, a soft 'Zzzz" filling the otherwise silent room. Gunnar dipped his hand into the opening and fished around inside for a few seconds. He closed his hand on something and pulled it out of the bag. Lifting it up, he inspected the item. It was a tiny packet of folded canvas sealed shut with Velcro. "Here we go," he muttered and then stood up, sliding the packet into his back pants pocket. "One thing down, one more to go," he added to himself as he walked over to the bed.

Gunnar reached up and began pulling the curtains from the frame of the canopy bed. It took a few minutes to get them down without tearing them, but once they were down, he laid them flat across the bed. Gunnar leaned down and smoothed his hand along the middle of the cloth before folding it and bringing both edges together. He repeated the process until the area of the fabric was no greater than a foot by a foot. Straightening up again, Gunnar tucked the folded cloth under his arm. Without the cloth dangling down from the wooden frame of the four poster bed, the piece of furniture was a little less gaudy. Sadly though, it reminded him of a tree in late autumn when the crimson and golden leaves had already fallen from the branches and left them bare like a fleshless, brown skeleton. Turning from the bed, Gunnar strode out of the room. After he exited, he pulled the door shut and locked it with the ancient iron key. Satisfied by the click of the lock, Gunnar left his room again.
[exit]

Gunnar returned to his assigned room in the men’s dormitory. While he wasn’t planning on turning in his key or officially giving up the room, just in case he needed it later, he figured he wouldn’t be returning to the overly ornate room with its furnishings carved from local birch and drapes of… well, cloth so fine he couldn’t identify it. Still carrying the rolled hammock tucked under his arm, he entered the room. There was only one purpose for his return: fetch his possessions. Bending over, the ex-ranch hand snatched up the strap of his duffel. Gunnar hoisted the duffel up and slipped the loop of canvas over his shoulder. Everything he owned that he had brought to the school was contained in that simple piece of luggage, and he could feel various possessions prodding and poking his back through the canvas as he turned and headed for the door. Once he was outside, he pulled the heavy door shut. The door, with its fine, sturdy construction, was about the only thing he really liked about the room. Though the carvings embossed across its surface were too flashy for his tastes. Gunnar slid the key into the lock, gave it a twist, and pulled it free again. “Just in case,” he whispered under his breath, placing a calloused fingertip on the large letter C stamped on the birch, tracing the curve before he turned and left.
[Exit]