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Literature Professor

Mathieu unlocked the library classroom, pushing open the heavy door. He was greeted by the smell of dust and parchment, settled into the velvety rugs and fluffy poufs over the summer. He gave a heavy sigh, and propped open a window as he set up his desk. Personal books, his new grading register and attendance log for the year, a few new bottles of ink, some more spare bits of paper and parchment...

There wasn't a roster on his desk to look over. Probably to be picked up at the staff meeting, that was a first. Maybe the headmaster wanted to ensure they had the most up to date version? Or maybe they'd taken on new staff and he wanted to make a good impression? Mathieu hadn't kept up with events in the Academy's staff build since the end of last term. He'd instead gone straight home, handing in his grades and vanishing to Lac Annecy.

He ran his hands along the bookshelves. Everything was out of order. Before the first class of term, he'd need to bring in some extra hands and eyes to reorder everything. Maybe he'd enlist Sister Eleanor's help before the students all started killing each other again and kept her busy from dusk till dawn.

Mathieu shook his head. No. He had to get rid of this mindset; it hadn't left him since... Mathieu made the sign of the cross, squeezing his eyes shut.

Let's have a good year this year. Please, God, let's have a safe year.

He headed for the staff lounge, putting off returning to his office dorm as long as humanly possible. It would be the first time he headed there alone.

[Exit to Staff Lounge]

"Got enough for the rest of the class?" Tom called, knocking on the door. He'd seen Monsieur fussing with the kettle. The professor turned around, giving Tom a split-second glare before ushering him inside.

"I'm here for my essay," Tom said. Monsieur nodded, and retreated to his desk to get it.

"If memory serves, I was disappointed with yours," said the teacher, taking the coffee off the fire.

"Eh, me too," Tom replied.

"Coffee's fresh, help yourself."

Tom poured himself a cup, pouring a second and placing it on the teacher's desk. Apple for the teacher, right? Well, this is close enough. Bonus points for Tom.

Literature Professor

Mathieu sighed, rifling through the papers and sipping his newly poured coffee. Here was Tom's. It was written in what Mathieu could only assume was Lurkertongue, and was therefore nearly completely unmarked by him.

"I can't read Lurkertongue, Thomas," he said, passing the paper back to the student.

" 'At's not my fault."

"Tom." Mathieu stood over the boy, momentarily towering over him. "You learned to read and write English last year, I was there for it. I helped you."

"And thank you for it," said Tom.

"I can't help you if you don't help me," Mathieu said. "I'd be happy to remove your failing grade if you rewrite it in English and resubmit it to me."

Tom shrugged. "Aye, you got it."

Mathieu crossed his arms. "You have until the end of the week, all right?"

"Sure."

Literature Professor

"Good morning, Prince Markus," Mathieu said, inclining his head as Markus and a...friend?... walked in.

"Quite well, all things considered. Very well researched, excellent use of resources." Mathieu left Thomas's side and rifled through the stack of papers, searching for the one that bore Markus's name. "Here you are." He passed it back. There were a few minor corrections and marks off in the margins, but Markus had more than passed.

"Who is this?" Mathieu asked curiously of the panting girl.

Literature Professor

Mathieu smiled, his joyful eyes somehow hollow. "Congratulations," he said, bowing to Meredy. "I expect we'll be seeing each other in class."

He nodded to Markus. Smart kid, he'd be fine. "There's coffee, please help yourself," he added, indicating the kettle. Thomas was happily downing his cup while Mathieu's own was going cold. He went back to his desk and picked it up, savoring the warmth. As the summer vanished from the grounds, the chill in the grounds seemed to seep out of the ground itself.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked, taking a gulp of his coffee.

Literature Professor

"Let's see, this year... you're sophomores, right?" Mathieu asked, taking another sip of coffee and moving a few papers to the side so he could see his roster. "Right. You'll have a few choices to make this year, but there's extra credit for reading everything," he added pointedly, looking at Thomas. The Lurker boy shrugged, settled comfortably on his pouf.

The sophomore year was Mathieu's favorite to teach, if only because it served as an important test. The students were asked to read books dealing with the intersection of law and morality, and often helped the Academy identify potentially despotic, abusive, or otherwise malevolent leadership skills in its students. Far be it from Mathieu to tread on Dubhan's territory, he used the year to educate students on the difference between legality and morality. "Let's see. This year you've got: To Kill A Mockingbird, Huckleberry Finn, Night, The Sunflower, Confessions of Nat Turner, Ender's Game, The Giver..."

He read off the list, smiling fondly. As attached as he grew to his favorite students, his books were friends that never left.

"We'll discuss it and I'll get you your choices at the first class meeting," Mathieu said. "This year, your final essay is a history of your homeland. We'll be working on that throughout the year, but for the first term you'll be predominantly reading and reporting on what you learn."

Literature Professor

...Ack! LORD!

Mathieu tried not to jump as a more immediately frightening boy than he'd seen in a few years walked into the room. He introduced himself, and Mathieu immediately busied himself with the roster, catching his breath. Oh Christ. Thou shalt not judge, but GOD... all right, Chris... of Suffolk... Yep, there he was. How about that. Mathieu sighed inwardly, hopefully he'd manage to last the year without suffering a heart attack.

"I am indeed, milord, forgive me," he said, inclining his head to the... pack master, had he called himself? He cleared his throat nervously, and straightened his jacket collar. "I am Monsieur Mathieu Marrouf, you'll be seeing me every year for literature instruction. Er, there's coffee if you'd like some. I know the banquet's not too far off, but..."

He frowned. He was no good at small talk. Perhaps he ought to just avoid it entirely. "Unfortunately, this is your first year here, so I have nothing to pass back to you," he said. "I'm glad you've found the classroom though, I'll see you here when classes begin."

Tom looked up at the clock. Nearly time for the banquet. He rose to his feet and passed behind Monsieur's desk.

"Thanks for the essay, M'sieur," he said, bowing and tossing the essay into the fire behind his back. "I'm gonna head back to the dorms and grab a jacket before dinner."

He turned to Chris, Markus, and Meredy. "You might wanna dress up for this one," he advised. "Usually they like us to look a little more than halfway decent. Go for three-fourths of the way decent and they'll normally let it slide."

"Please dress formally," Monsieur corrected. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Anyway. Seeya there?" He grinned, shrugged, and vanished into the shadow beneath the professor's desk. He did intend to get a dinner jacket or something similar, but more than that, he wanted to track down Viola. Not out of any actual desire to SEE her, but more out of a worry that she'd be on his tail like Meredy was tailing Markus. Gods, PLEASE don't let that happen.

[Exit to 101]