Responsibility was not usually a word that applied to Fletch. Whilst he was on time, that was more to do with excitement about meeting someone who’d be obligated to talk to him rather than anything to do with being responsible. And it was absolutely not anything to do with wanting to learn academics. Fletch was notoriously terrible at that. Like. Really, really terrible. It just wasn’t the way his mind was wired, and combine that with an attention span of some kind of small insect (and not the troll kind!) and repeated negative feedback and yeaaaah. Fletch did. Not. like.
But maybe, toothdad had said, the tutor would help. And Fletch might not have trusted his schoolfeeder, but he did trust his lusus. So he was being ...gasp…. Responsible. Well at least semi-responsible. Okay not really. Said lusus was keeping a stern eye on his young charge as they paced down the hall together, the little ottershark almost loping to keep up with his wriggler. Fletch might have agreed to come, but he still wasn’t entirely happy about it. But then he was? But he wasn’t. He was having mixed feelings about it, anyway.
Still, he rapped on the door politely enough, even if his entrance was otherwise a little lackadaisal.
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