Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock in the receptionist's office dragged on, each second louder than the last.
As expected, Lucian was late and by quite the margin. The trains had been stopped due to the Soulfracture incident, and because of that, he'd had to run all the way to school.
On foot.
Lucian sighed. "Just my luck…"
He glanced down at himself, hair dishevelled, clothes damp with sweat, his half-top hat and cane resting in his lap. His collar sat slightly undone, and he kept his leather jacket on in a poor attempt to hide the sweat stains.
The room itself was of average size, its walls covered in school memorabilia—a trophy from a rugby championship, framed articles celebrating past achievements. The seats, however, were distinctly uncomfortable.
"Mr. Lucian, the principal will see you now," the receptionist said from behind her oak desk, layered in documents, stickers, pens, and the like.
Lucian got up from his seat, dusted himself and his accessories, put his half-top hat back on, and walked past the receptionist's desk. He opened his mouth, but looking at the already annoyed expression on the receptionist's face, he made the very wise choice not to comment on her overdone makeup and horribly coloured grey cotton dress.
So, be it then, he thought. As he reached the door to the principal's office, he noticed the plaque on top of the door frame. It read: World's Best Principal.
Lucian blinked. He had never actually been to the principal's office before, well he mostly avoided the man. He looked back at the plaque for a moment before thinking, Isn't that a bit pretentious? He then pushed the handle of the door and entered the office.
The office was even more pretentious than the plaque, there were articles praising him, with obvious cut-outs where his face was to be. There were two seats, one a normal wooden stool and the cotton brown couch. There was also a small statue of a man with refined features and a strong pose, flexing his muscles. Lucian looked up above the large dark oak desk with no paperwork, pen, or statuette except for a golden pen that looked rarely used. Above the desk was a large painting of a man posing on a horse, much like a certain French emperor.
Now that's something you don't see every day, Lucian thought.
"Ahhmm, Mr. Lucian, are you paying attention?" came a slight voice. Lucian looked back down at the desk. The velvet chair on the other end of the desk turned to face him.
Or are you admiring my greatness, the man, who looked sickly and thin, with slicked-back black hair and mossy green eyes—he looked like a gremlin, nothing like the status and painting would suggest.
"My, principal, are you sick? Your complexion is truly unfortunate," Lucian said in a solemn tone, covering his mouth with his hand, almost as if to hide something.
The principal blinked. "What are you blabbering about, boy? Enough with your nonsense, I look just fine."
"Oh, I see, sir. It's gotten that bad," Lucian said, taking a seat on the couch opposite the principal.
"What do you think you're doing?" the principal leered.
"Sitting, sir," Lucian replied, appearing confused. The bastard expects me to sit on the stool, for heaven's sake.
Lucian got up and switched to the stool. It was uncomfortable, but he had to deal with it.
"That's better. Now let's talk about you, Mr. Lucian. You have been late a total of 26 times," he said as he pulled out a document from his drawer.
"Hmm, not so bad," Lucian muttered, attempting to lean back, almost falling off the stool.
The principal looked at him. "And late this year, alone, not to mention your unorthodox approach to teaching… letting the children study what they want, instead of the set curriculum."
"Well, Mr. principal, I believe that children should explore their options. Given the choice to choose what they want to study can help them grow as individuals, sir."
"Mr. Lucian, Mr. Lucian," the principal said, getting up from his chair and moving toward the window on the right. He looked down at the courtyard, full of children of all ages running, studying, playing sports like basketball and football.
He spoke without looking back at Lucian. "Do you really believe that this is the age for such things? With the current state of the world, our great country of Britannia has faced many challenges, yet she and her people have not faulted. The school curriculum has not changed since the academy was erected in 1972, so why would you think it would change now?"
"Maybe change is what we need," Lucian said, "with the rise of Soulfracture cases and public fear, shouldn't the children have something to look forward to?"
"You're wrong."
"Excuse me, sir."
"No need, Mr. Lucian—you're wrong," the principal said firmly. "The reason I act as principal is to secure the future of my students, and that includes plucking the weeds from my garden."
"I'm not sure what you're trying to say here."
"Don't play the fool now, son."
"You're firing me?" Lucian asked, looking directly into the principal's eyes. The man had turned back to him a moment prior.
I suppose this is expected. With the principal's way of doing it, this was going to happen eventually. What a pity. I had thought of different outcomes, but this one always seemed the most logical, Lucian tapped the down of the stool with three fingers, looking down at the floor.
"Make your way to the school treasurer's office, you can claim your wage for the week. This is my final act of generosity."
Lucian made his way out of the office, past the receptionist, and into the hall. The sun filtered through the clear glass panes in soft rays; he basked in the warmth.
Maybe this isn't so bad. A vacation sounds nice… well, it's not really a vacation—more like unemployment. No, it is unemployment. He paused, pursed his lips, and let out a soft breath.
He adjusted his collar, putting it back into place. I have an image to maintain, after all, as the most inconspicuous, jobless person ever.
"Sir, Mr. Lucian, what are you doing in the hall?" came a voice.
Lucian turned to look at who had called to him. It was a young lad of about 13, with pale blue eyes and messy brown hair. He was adorned in a school uniform that looked much like a suit, the only difference being that he had shorts instead of trousers. On the embroidered blazer was the school's name—Nicholes High—the logo being a pigeon.
"Luke, it's quite the surprise. Shouldn't you be out in the courtyard, playing with the other lads?" Lucian said, softening his voice, no longer having its usual bluntness.
"Well, sir, I'm not really a fan of sports myself, and the weather has been quite warm recently, so I prefer to stay inside," the boy, Luke, said nervously, rubbing his left arm with his right.
Lucian hummed. "I suppose you never were—you're more of a performer, anyhow," a slight smile forming on his lips.
Luke seemed to lose some of his nervous energy, revealing a toothy grin of his own. Then he exclaimed, "Did you see the new play on Channel 3? My, the news was buzzing about the cast's performance!"
"No, unfortunately, I have not, but from what I'm hearing now, it seemed like quite the show," Lucian said with a small shake of his head.
"Oh," Luke muttered, now averting his gaze a bit. Then he perked back up. "That just means I can recount it to you in class," he said, once again fixing his gaze on Lucian, fists balled in excitement.
"Luke—" Lucian tried to say before being cut off.
"Thank you, Mr. Lucian," the boy said.
"For what, lad?"
"For believing in my dream, for helping me even though it seemed a challenge."
"Help you…" Lucian said softly, almost a whisper.
Another voice resounded in his head.
Help me anyone…
No, come back…
It was the voice of the paperboy—
Lucian had abandoned him.
The bell rang, bringing Lucian out of his stupor. He glanced out the window, the students all filing into lines, ready to come inside.
He looked back at Luke, sighed, and said, "You should be on your way, lest you get a shouting at by your next teacher."
Luke blinked. "Right… I mean, yes, sir. I'll see you later," he said as he jogged off down the hall. Lucian watched as his back disappeared.
He straightened his jacket, making sure he looked presentable, then glanced at his watch. Still broken.
He tapped his cane on the floor as he walked down the hall. "I'll get my wage later," he muttered to himself. "There's never a need to rush after all, good things happen to those who wait."