A/N: Hey there. This is my first ever fanfiction. I've been writing my entire life but I've always been to shy and unmotivated to try fanfiction. But I finally decided, why the hell not?
Based off a role play I'm doing, so excuse me if it's a little choppy. Again this is my first shot at fanfiction so please be gentle, and enjoy~
Disclaimer: Claude Faustus and Kuroshitsuji belong to Yana Toboso. All mentioned books belong to their respected owners.
Braxton Crowell belongs to me.
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Braxton stared at the door that stood in front of him; it was a sturdy wooden door, with a very small rectangular window that sat just above the worn out handle. He thought this window was much like one they would have in a prison: very small, and very difficult to look into. But Braxton wondered if it was just as difficult to look out of as well. He rocked on his heels a bit and wondered still, if he should or shouldn't enter the room beyond this door. He already knew that no one could see him through such a tiny, tiny window—so no one would know that he was there in the first place, therefore they wouldn't know he hesitated and left. It would be like he didn't even exist.
But the whole reason Braxton had been hesitating, was because the room beyond this door happened to be his classroom: Summer School. He had to take these classes or else he'd fail the 8th grade, he knew that much. But he didn't care. He hated school, and passing his classes just meant he would have to take more classes. He went through this process nearly every day since he started summer school, it's only been a week and he was really starting to consider dipping out and hanging out by the ol' creek. Skip some stones, chase dragon flies, catch a toad or two… the usual stuff a kid does. But that nagging little 'you have to do it' still existed in his young mind, a delinquent but not yet so rebellious.
Braxton adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his lightly freckled nose and thought 'Well I might as well get it over with'. He makes an agreement with himself that he'll buy ice cream to reward himself after class. But he also thought he should show how much he hated this whole situation. Because if there's one thing Braxton hates, it's being fake. He walks into the classroom, and interrupts the lecture his teacher, Mr. Faustus, (Braxton calls him by his first name: Claude) is giving. All eyes were on him as he walks to his desk in the back of the classroom and drops his backpack on the floor. It wasn't very loud as it fell because all he had inside of it were a couple of books and a big, fat, cranberry scone, wrapped in wax paper. He stole it from the kitchen this morning—mother had made it for a little get together she was having and she told all the kids not to touch them. But Braxton thought 'fuck you' and took one any way.
He was already reaching into his bag and pulling out his favorite book Alice's Adventures in Wonderland when Claude interrupted him. "Is there a reason you're late, Mr. Crowell?" He asked—sounding just as monotone as always. Not all adults sound like that; Braxton remembers watching Peanuts, and all the adults sound like a retarded trumpet. That's what he thinks Claude sounds like too. He answers with a simple "Yes," because Claude didn't ask for him to explain himself, and Braxton likes jumping through loop holes. But instead he found himself in a twist when Claude announced "Then an hour after class should make up for the time you've lost."
Braxton tries to act unaffected by lifting the book to his face and flipping to the chapter he left off on and says "Sure," like it doesn't bother him at all. But it does, he had to hide his furrowed brow with the book.
Claude isn't really surprised by the choice of literature Braxton chooses, because he thinks that Braxton is just as much of a space-out as Alice had been in her adventures. However, when Braxton doesn't do any work and even eats in class he lets it go. Detention will be enough for him.
Class rolls on steadily, and finishes without any further disturbances. The rest of the class leaves Braxton behind, but he doesn't mind because he hates every single one of them. He takes his time putting his things away because he figures 'why rush?' he tucks his beloved books carefully away in his bag and collects his notebook(which he only doodles in) and closes it up and tucks that away as well.
On his way to the door, Claude steps in front of him and locks it. For a second Braxton thinks 'uh oh' but doesn't think too much of it. Claude can't do anything to him without having a lawsuit shoved up his ass. He's safe.
"Please sit," Claude says and heads over to his desk and picks up a book. Even from a distance Braxton can tell that it's The Lord of The Flies. He rolls his eyes and sits down at the closest desk to him. "I want you to read the first chapter of The Lord of The Flies and write a one page summary on it," Claude said then set the book down in front of Braxton. It's an old beat up paper back copy. It has a picture of leafy plants all over the cover.
Braxton blinks once or twice while he stares at it. But then he chirps up "no problem!" he sits back casually. "I've read that book more times than you've blinked in a day!" saying that was probably way too exaggerated but the point was he knew that book like the back of his hand. "I can tell you right now what it's about without writing a summary," Braxton says and places his hand on top of the book to show he's not peeking through the pages. "See, there's this boy named Ralf and another one who everyone calls Piggy—and they're on this island after a plane crash. They go 'round searchin' until they find this conch shell, and they use it like a horn to alert the other survivors where they are—" he continues to explain the first chapter flawlessly, and Claude doesn't mind letting him finish.
"That's good," Claude says; honestly a little surprised that Braxton knew it so well. "Then you'll have no problem writing it down on paper, will you? Take your time, you still have an hour." a good counter attack, Braxton thinks. He isn't pleased and he's scowling at the adult. He has an idea though, not a good one but he fires anyway.
"Why should I have to write it down?" Braxton asks "do you have trouble remembering this book?" and he thinks he's cool because he can lean back in his seat and balances on the back legs. He stretches his arms over his head and it tugs up his over-sized clothing a bit. For a thirteen year old—who normally like dressing with the latest fad since it's just recently mommy stops picking out their clothes for them—Braxton dressed rather odd.
Instead of wearing the typical band t-shirt, baggy pants, and colorful hooded jacket, Braxton wore clothes like a button up shirt, a sweater-vest, knee length shorts and knee-high socks. He also attempted to tie a heartstring about the collar of his shirt, but it was uneven and messy. The top half of him was rather oversized, and Claude figured Braxton must have taken his 'father's' clothing. The shorts, socks, and shoes fit just fine however. No one likes to have their pants falling to their ankles when they're just walking about and minding their own business after all.
Claude frowned at the insult. "Hardly," he sighed. "I've read this book to every class each year since I've started teaching. And I've worked here for ten years." He said as if it was supposed to be impressive.
"Golly!" Braxton says in mock surprise, "How old are you? Forty?" he thought he must have guessed pretty close because Claude doesn't answer him. Simply pushes up his glasses and looks back at Braxton expressionlessly.
"You still haven't written the summary."
By now Braxton is a little annoyed that his dodging isn't working. Claude is very persistent; he won't give up. But neither would Braxton. "Fine!" He says and pulls out his notebook. "I'll write." And he does, but it isn't what Claude asked for: because Braxton never does what people tell him to. Instead, he recalled a poem he once read in the book Watership Down. He thought this poem would baffle Claude—since obviously the man has poor taste in literature (at least Braxton thinks so).
When he's finished writing—which takes a while because he wants his handwriting to look beautiful—he hands the sheet of paper to Claude; rather, he shoves it in the man's face. Claude is unaffected but just takes the paper from Braxton.
(the poem):
"The wind is blowing, blowing over the grass.
It shakes the willow catkins; the leaves shine silver.
Where are you going, wind? Far, far away
Over the hills, over the edge of the world.
Take me with you, wind, high over the sky.
I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-wind,
Into the sky, the feathery sky and the rabbit.
The stream is running, running over the gravel,
Through the brooklime, the kingcups, the blue and gold of spring.
Where are you going, stream? Far, far away
Beyond the heather, sliding away all night.
Take me with you, stream, away in the starlight.
I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-stream,
Down through the water, the green water and the rabbit.
In autumn the leaves come blowing, yellow and brown.
They rustle in the ditches, they tug and hang on the hedge.
Where are you going, leaves? Far, far away
Into the earth we go, with the rain and the berries.
Take me, leaves, O take me on your dark journey.
I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-leaves,
In the deep places of the earth, the earth and the rabbit.
Frith lies in the evening sky. The clouds are red about him.
I am here, Lord Frith, I am running through the long grass.
O take me with you, dropping behind the woods,
Far away, to the heart of light, the silence.
For I am ready to give you my breath, my life,
The shining circle of the sun, the sun and the rabbit."
Claude is about to dismiss it and throw it away because it isn't what he asked for, but he quirks a brow at how well written the poem was. 'He hasn't read that book' Braxton figures. If Claude had read it, he'd definitely recognize the poem.
Claude is done, he hasn't given up but he's letting go for now. "Very well," He says and pushes up his glasses. Showing no expression, speaking monotone…as always… "You may go," Braxton hops out of his seat and collects his things while Claude unlocks the door. He's about to leave but Claude's stern voice stops him.
"Braxton." The boy looks back at Claude expectantly. "I expect you to be on time to class tomorrow, I'll bring you to class myself if I have to."
"Sure thing," Braxton says, shrugging it off with a big smile. Then he's off. He feels just as clever and tricky as a rabbit. Because even though he wasted about 30 minutes of his time (not that Braxton values time) he got away without doing a single thing Claude asked of him.
"Surely, I deserved that ice cream now. Well done, Braxton. Well done indeed."