This story began as a conversation many, many moons ago and has been sitting half finished on my HD up until now because I would get a fit of the giggles every time I tried to work with the plot. It shouldn't be taken seriously, and is not meant to insult anyone...but it does look at the ideas that crop up a lot to do with Raven and his life. Another pre-CC fic, but pieces were taken from the Distant Stars episode.
Due it to it being one big text file, some chapters will be quite short, some will be quite long. Just so you know!
Some Experience Necessary
1.1
The day was going to be warmer than it should have been and his uniform was sticking to him most unpleasantly as the teacher droned on about the logistics of supply and demand. The chalk squeaked and hissed over the vaguely green surface of the chalkboard as the dried up and bony Mr. Suthers continued to explain the subject of business to his restless students a military school it may have been, there was still the importance of work outside their regiments and the choice once the four-year conscription was up to stay or go elsewhere.
Raven tapped his pencil against his notebook, deeply bored and feeling more morose than usual at the beautiful day. It was only the first class of the morning, and already he was looking for other things to do, to think about rather than dwell on the subject at hand. All he could do was gaze outside the great windows that overlooked the parade square and the squat buildings that the school had put up as a temporary measure for the new students and had ended ups staying instead. Ungainly boxes on steel legs, they were at least cool in the depths of an Imperial Summer, but not as picturesque as he would have liked. There was some greenery, which at least broke up the harsh lines and general dismay baked into the school with its generations of school kids.
Raven narrowed his eyes, remembering for a moment the fond memories of the first learning classes covering everything you could possibly need before this brain-meltingly-boring subject was thrust upon him. The basics of all schooling, math, English, science, hell even art was preferable to learning about business. In the brick hothouse that had been one of the first buildings erected here and thus without much in the way of temperature control, like say, air conditioning - or a working proper window - and business was hard enough without having your brain cooked from outside sources as well.
Besides, he already knew how it worked, mostly by reading over his foster father's shoulder, asking annoying questions and just being generally amused by the flailing and cursing that followed.
Lilac eyes slid in their sockets to take in the clock above the door, each tick taking a lifetime as the dust motes drifted from the old ceiling to the wooden floor in oceans of sunbeams to be lost in the shadows of his fellow cadets. Another dreaded half hour. Then down to the shooting range. Ms Bellington was one of his favourite teachers, and shed promised she would bring in a working flame thrower for the students to see a demonstration of something Raven was itching to take a look at. If he was lucky and she put a good word in, he might have it added to his arsenal for Christmas!
Why did time have to slow down when you needed to escape?
Leaning his elbows onto the desk and his chin in a vacant palm, he amused himself by watching the tree that was outside the wall of windows, casting a shadow over the board. It was a pretty thing, stirred only by the winged inhabitants who were currently teasing rather ruffled and annoyed magpie. They were vicious little things...
But his meditations were destroyed when the classroom door was thrown open, sounding out a torturous shriek from the old hinges and a hefty smack when it hit the exposed brick. Raven could have taken this moment to scowl, fix the newcomer with a glare or something, but he'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the warmth and the dullness of the day so he did what everyone else did at that moment he jumped. And hit his elbow in exactly the wrong place to make him cringe and rub it furiously and now scowl at the person standing there.
His was the school secretary, Errol Flick, and he was about to ruin Ravens day.
- To be continued!
It is a guilty pleasure to write him as a school boy.