Will sat on the last table of the mess hall and his food was quite cold, too. He was a little late for diner and was last in the line and last to get food. He picked up, what looked like, meat, bread, a lot of vegetables and milk. Walking across the entire hall and finding no place at all, he went to the last bench.

Will had been punished for fighting a second year page and that was what had caused him to be late. His right eye was still a little bit swollen and he was limping slightly. His head was thumping and he felt like throwing up instead of eating. He knew he had to eat, though. He picked up a spoonful of beans and chewed on them till some one came over and sat by him. "Hello" Will said grimly, his entire body was crying for rest when he had to stay in the mess hall and eat.

Young Silas sat quietly in his spot, knife delicately severing a piece of meat, for his right hand was bandage. Two days prior, the first year page had his hand on the wooden staff at a place he shouldn't have accidently. He payed for the misplacement when he had to bring his training staff up for a block, the other first year's swing landed on his knuckles, hard enough for his small hand to swell. Once the teacher present was aware that Silas wasn't bleeding (for that meant no great danger), he was sent to the healer's wing where they gave him something for the pain and confirmed nothing was broken. Thus, the nurses ordered he let it rest for the next day or two, to let the swelling decrease. The amusing part was, when he told his trainer's of the scenario, they were more enthusiastic than Silas expected, for they found it a great chance for the boy to learn to deal with pain; he could always rest it during breaks and classes.

From the appearance of the late Page, whom Silas recognized as William, he was not in any better shape, if not worse. Placing the undelicatable meat in his mouth, he chewed absentmindly, trying to ignore the elbow at his side from another page who cut with his left hand. Shifting his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, he looked about for emptier spots on the benches. The only reasonable amount of room was where William had situated himself. Supposing he knock his anti-socialness away for a brief moment, he gathered his plates of food back onto his tray which was kept under the bench for space. With some contortion-like movements, he safely manuevered himself out of the tight spot.

Stretching out his shoulders by pulling them down where they should be, he shuffled over to William's area, tray balanced on his good hand. As Silas set it down, his glasses slipped off his nose. The automatic greeting startled him a bit, and the urge to flee came, but it was too late to return to his prior seat. "'ullo. Y-you look rough." Silas stated off-handly to try to start a conversation whilst he settled down.