Orientation [Huayan and Agnolo]

Agnolo tugged uneasily on a floral-embroidered cuff, as though they were cut from steel and not silk. It wasn't as though he found them ill-fitting -- not in how they were tailored, anyway -- though perhaps his feelings surrounding this new place were different. He'd hardly had a moment to set his embarrassingly small amount of baggage aside before recognizing that this place might've been just a smidge too rich for his blood.

Maybe more than just a smidge, really.

At least the salty and omnipresent tang of seaside air hadn't left him; when he shut his eyes, home felt like it was merely an unfurled sail and raised anchor away. Not to mention that the faculty had promised him regular opportunities to get out and onto the water, which to Agnolo certainly was welcome.

The fisherkid squinted against the noontime sunshine, peering down at the cheery print of the orientation pamphlet in his hands. Somebody was due to meet him here, right?