Chapter 1- Ignore the Glass, Half of You is Me
Sympathy was never among Maron Shampton's strong suits, regardless of whether or not he held the somewhat prestigious position as superintendent of Gotham High School. Day in and day out, he was held responsible for giving the future generations a sense of hope and stability in a turbulent time, masking the poverty stricken streets and overwhelming sense of doom from so called "super criminals" at large.
At times, when it seemed to be pointless and that none of them were willing to listen to reason, the was the faintest sense of a third party within...telling him to just let them sink into the pit of despair that was the gasoline and gunpowder fueled underbelly. It was all too easy, to give in, to give up on them in much the same way that he had given up on his own life at some point and just lived by their means to stay afloat...to stay alive.
After the lot of his temptations subsided, there were always times when he would at long last see the potential in the teens he saw shuffling about, themselves being drug in against their will nonetheless. It was because of this capability and foresight, that he dreaded having the discipline some of the more arrogant or difficult students.
Calls to the parent or guardian, referrals, retention, detention, all just a waste of time and energy in his mind. What these children needed when it got to such an extreme was someone to relate to, someone to confide in, a mentor maybe...or perchance a shrink. But he wasn't in the business of examining instability. At least, not anymore he wasn't.
"Now, i'm sorry once again for calling you in on such short notice, i'm sure that this is all just a big misunderstanding. However, the seriousness of the matter cant be ignored, I just hope you can understand my side of things Mrs...?"
"Oh, don't be so formal, we're all adults here, just call me Stacy." She was a middle-aged woman, although by the color of her face you would never have guessed, a thick layer of lipstick and makeup covering most of what was her own natural look. There was a few rough patches across her face, most notably on her right cheek and just below her bottom lip which still shown through her valiant cosmetic efforts. Her voice no doubt her most odd of qualities, booming and confident but also slippery and sly in such a way that you'd think that she could get away wit murder if she just smiled in the right fashion. "I'm still not entirely sure what my daughter has done to deserve a weeks suspension, although i'm sure we can work this all out, no need to...get all hot and bothered."
No parent wants to be in this situation, and for the administrator the feeling is brutally mutual; they get the so-called honor of coming in in the middle of whatever stressors they have at home or work, to hear that their child has done something wrong. Or better yet, that the person in a position of authority has to break it to them that they might have something wrong with them in general, digging up a feeling of insecurity and a misplaced need to blame.
If it was anyone else's kid, they would be the same way, denying it all and hoping desperately to just assess the situation different then "my child is mentally unequal." No one goes into that conversation with the approach that they should look to what's best, because on the inside they just beg the question "who made them like this?"
"Your daughter is bright, one of the brightest we have here, in fact she currently sits comfortably as the second in her class. If I may be so bold, she might even be the top of her class had she not had so many disciplinary marks on her record." He told her bluntly, her crimson lips staying sealed as tightly as can be, awaiting his lecture to be over. "She was assigned an essay, approximately five to ten pages in length, focusing on a single person of which she felt would be a good role model. Most of her class wrote about a celebrity that they admired, or even their parents, but she...uh..."
Maron finished as his mind failed to produce anything further, but instead he just slid a small manila envelop over towards her, allowing silence to fill the room as she skimmed over each page. In it, a collection of drawings, mainly in oil pastels and a variety of soft water-based paints, all of which were much to her confusion of the same ghastly figure. Then at the end of the drawings there was a section of ten tattered and crumbled pages stapled together. A single playing card taped to it for good measure.
"I'm...i'm sure this was just a joke...I'll have a talk with her when we get home. Um...did...did she say why she did this?" Gaging the situation carefully, a bit of shock and horror over came her calm nonchalance for a second, but was dismissed just as easily as she had let it sink in. One hand gliding across the air soon landed on Shampton's lap, a wry smile showing almost instantaneously as he shuddered from the unexpected turn of events. "...by the way, I like your tie, even if you act like you have your psyche degree wedged between your ass...I think if you let yourself go once in a while you could be a lot of...fun"
Each syllable was almost excruciatingly implicating passion, every hot breathe hit his senses like a freight train and left him numb and along for the ride. She leaned in with just as much sultry style and finesse, and laid a soft kiss upon his cheek. Dazed and completely incapacitated by the rawness of it all, he merely watched with his jaw dangling below, a single spot of drool starting to form as she walked out of the office.
"Harley's a good kid, you know...it just takes time to really understand her."