Lets try for privacy...AGAIN!

Noah limped into the room, a large sketchbook tucked under his free arm. He was planning on sketching the view - he'd been here last week, but he hadn't had anything to draw on, so he'd resolved to come back.

He scanned the room for students, sighing as his gaze rested on some kid drinking beer and staring out the window. Wonderful. Now he'd be interrupted every five seconds by some drunk sobbing about how horrible his life was. He rolled his eyes, trying to decide whether to leave or not. The leaves were falling from the trees like so much dandruff, and he knew that if he came back some other time it might be too late.

He finally sighed and limped over to a windowseat about twenty feet away from the boy, sitting down and leaning his cane against it. He'd just tough it out - it really was an excellent view.

Noah rifled through his backpack for a stick of charcoal, finally finding a case and picking out a well worn stub for the grass. He swiped it across the paper, creating a base to start from.

The boy was staring. At. Him. Why would he be staring at him? He paused, the charcoal hovering over the page. "What." He glanced up at the kid, daring him to give an explanation.

He shrugged, turning back to his drawing. "Whatever." He didn't like teenagers and he didn't like punks or whatever the crap the kid was trying to be and he didn't like people staring at his cane, but as long as the boy didn't shove any of that in his face he didn't care enough to tell him off.

Noah turned his attention back to the window, silently and expressionlessly watching the sunset. He'd fight his way through a crowd of drunken tweens for a view like this in a second; indeed, the plethora of beautiful scenery around the school was the only thing keeping him from going insane and killing everyone. That, and the few and far between moments of complete and utter silence. His gaze flickered to the boy, and he raised an eyebrow, turning back to the window. "Now, I would have thought you'd be one of those people'd rather kill themselves then smile," he drawled, not bothering to look at the boy.

Noah watched as the last of the sun slipped behind the trees, sighing softly. Ok, maybe it was stupid to come in to draw five minutes before it went dark out, yeah. "So... You're not just a stereotype..." He addressed it to the boy, but he doubted he could hear him. "Because a stereotype would say 'I never have anything to smile at', instead of 'had'." He shrugged, flipping the page over in his drawing book and starting in on a still life of one of the many chandeliers hanging above their heads. "Still doesn't improve things for me, I'm afraid."