Notes:
This is sort of a quick, two/three-page drabble-ish chapter for Joy's formal introduction. Sorry about the shortness of it all, but my head is spinning. I can relate to how Ambrose feels. Make sure to read and review!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything out of Twilight. I do use the vampire concept, though.
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Chapter Two: Night-Joy
"He's our form teacher!? I knew Principal-Hag would choose a twenty-something handsome man..."
Twenty-seven, twenty-something? I thought sarcastically, try around four-hundred and seventy, but yeah, close enough.
Upraised voices greeted me as soon as I pushed open the form room door. It was the classroom I had anticipated in my half-awake, half-asleeep fantasies; somewhat shabby, the airconditioner broken and cracked in one corner, and colorful posters dangling from the wall. And better yet – students, their flesh warm in the stuffy classroom, reeking of life and vitality. Mrs. Hamzie adressed her pupils with the face I associated with grim cheeriness, while I stood in the corner, glancing around the room.
"Sir. Sir!"
The call came all too soon. The formal title felt even stranger. I turned, and smelt the flavorless scent of average blood call me. That, I could withstand – it was nothing more than a dull pulse, quickening here and there. Shanra stood inches from her, her dark-skinned face determined. She might've been pretty, but years of gradual exposure to fear and confusion had turned her angled features boyish. She waved a hand roughly in my face. The class didn't titter, however; Shanra seemed something of an outcast.
"What is it, Miss ... ?" I trailed off.
"Are you going to commence class?"
"Sure." I said flatly, and walked to my desk. It was another shoddy piece of human architecture. "10-A, please sit."
They did so, in one fluid motion. I, on the other hand, was forced to remain standing, in my suit and tie. It felt especially awkward, posing as one of those ludicrous humans who actually enjoyed close proximity to their own kind ... My lips curled back in an involuntary snarl, and the majority of the class sat up, dazzled. Apparently, they had mistaken my momentary annoyance for a rare smile from the new teacher. I decided I might as well make a good impression on them.
"I'm Ambrose. Just call me that." I said.
There were a few nervous titters, and some person called out 'Nice to meet you, Ambrose!'. I attempted a vague smile in that person's direction . Shanra slunk back to her seat, looking somewhat resentful. I didn't follow her with my eyes, but I saw the blush of rejected love on her cheeks.
"I suppose I ought to attempt to understand you hum ... students better." I rumbled.
The class murmured my words back, reassuring me it would be alright that I sat down and they talked among themselves. I did so, pretending to scan the roll – meaningless name upon meaningless name, strange human titles that never lasted – while the classes voices slowly grew to a crescendo. My students were unusually well-disclipined. It could almost be a symphony, an orchestration of the power a teacher held over the class.
And then, came the subtlest whisper. I mentally cursed the foresight of the gods to have cursed me with this inhuman sensitivity, this ability to percieve, to smell, to hear, to know everything and absolutely everything about everyone around me. I glanced up, trying to detect where the whisper had come from. My eyes lingered briefly on the bowed head of a blonde girl, her honey-colored locks falling over her head. But in that instant, I could smell the reek of omens and death growing ever closer to her.
She glanced up, and that tantalizingly familiar aroma drifted towards me. My composure melted away, and I scrabbled almost wildly for the roll, and flipped through the wad of white paper. Sure enough, there it was – her name, written in the previous teacher's slanting, thin script; Joy Hoffman. Joy, her scent growing more powerful by the moment, blinked at me, and her emotions swarmed through me; confusion, but a cheery goodwill that stank of humanity.
Then and there I resolved to avoid her at all costs.
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"Sir ... Sir?"
I glanced up at the soft bell that rang through the day, and then flinched away instinctively. Joy and Shanra were back. Shanra's face was set into a cold mask of fury, but Joy smiled awkwardly at me. I forced a pair of professor-like glasses I had found in an opportuinity shop somewhere in the city. I forced myself to smile, despite the automatic close down of my lungs. I hoped I looked like I was still alive.
"What is it, Shanra?" I said through gritted teeth.
"It was Joy's question." Shanra said automatically.
"Very well then." I said, fixating my glance on a point over Joy's head, "What did you want?"
"I ... I just," Joy looked more alarmed than I felt, and her emotions and scent mingled in an irresistible flavor. I gritted my teeth, grinding them against one another, and forced my chair back, digging my nails into my palm in the other hand.
"I just wanted to welcome you, sir." she said with a hesitant smile.
I took the opportunity to scan her. She looked far frailer than I remembered; her skin was a transculent, unearthly pallor, and her rosebud lips quivered worriedly. I could imagine reaching out and snapping her arm in half, a clean break; that was how small she seemed. She opened her eyes once more, and her green eyes blazed with light. They weren't emeralds; they were an ever-rippling sea of grass, framed with smoky lashes. If she had been a vampire, her fragile, china-like beauty would have been enhanced even more. Compared to Shanra, she was an ever-breakable rose, while Shanra was a ... coffee cup.
I stifled a snort of contempt, knowing all too well that I would inhale the deadly intoxicating scent once more. Joy caught onto it at once.
"It's good to see you settling in!" she smiled, "Our old teacher left due to fatigue."
Fatigue? I could understand why. This girl's never-ending presence was simply overwhelming ... frustrating ... infuriating. I longed for nothing more to lash out at her then and there with my tightly bunched muscles, cracking her neck, ripping her jaw from the bottom of her tiny face, cutting all of her luxurious tresses off and watching her bawl, making her crawl like a baby while I burnt her, drinking her friends' blood and then drinking hers, ever so slowly it hurt ... if that was possible ... I flinched away at the scent as I inhaled voluntarily.
"I can see why!" I snarled in a low tone at her, and Joy started back. Her arms clenched around her frame defensively, "do you have nothing better to do than talk your teacher to death? Or is that just fun for you?"
Joy had abandoned the tableside now, while Shanra dragged her back, her expression the true meaning of the phrase 'I told you so.' Coffee-Cup pulled her friend towards the exit of the classroom, while Joy hung on doggedly. I could smell her confusion. It tasted so good with her sweet scent. I forced myself to clear my mind. And then, inspiration struck.
Teachers were always calling their students back for 'private conferences'. And, with my vampire-induced looks, there would be not a single student who would be able to refuse a 'private conference'. What was more, Joy had actually come and talked to me. I had stopped inhaling once more; it was pointless and irritating, and I needed space to concentrate. I slammed the door shut behind Shanra and Joy, just in time to feel Joy's confusion grow paramount. With the classroom empty, I closed my eyes, concentrating.
The scent of blood that lingered made my thoughts even more focused, even more intense. Without thinking, I paced to Joy's chair. Shanra's scent was like an irritating odor beside a single rose in full bloom, but I had swatted that annoying fly away; I could ignore her stench just as easily. I inhaled deeply, relishing the sweet taste of Joy's blood, the scent that was the strongest presence in the classroom. My gut feeling then and there was to follow her trail of confused emotions and flowery aroma.
I ignored it. I had a better, far more brilliant plan. I would call Joy – and maybe Shanra; for all my frustration at her brilliant, and yet, unattainable scent, I would torture Shanra. Burning, or maybe just the slow poison of spiteful words. I had seen my words at work on Joy's heart just a few moments ago. And then, when Joy could take no more of her friend's utter agony, she might sacrifice herself yet. No ...
No, that wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was the pleasure of killing her myself. With audience, or without audience. Sorry Carlisle, I said silently, but you know what 'vengeance' means. This is what I'm carrying out.