Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me.
"Hey, have you got those figures for me yet?"
Mark, Arthur's PA, looked through the open door. "Not yet, boss. Still waiting for the data."
"Fine," Arthur snapped. "I'll use that as an explanation when the Governors start to ask, shall I?"
His PA turned red, and walked out. Arthur swallowed, feeling himself redden. He didn't mean to take it out on his staff, but the paperwork was getting beyond a joke.
Suddenly, the phone rang. He sighed, and picked it up. "Arthur Ogilvie."
"Mr Ogilvie, would you mind coming down to reception?"
"What?" He blinked. Was he expected to do administration's job for them now?
"Mr Ogilvie. I have a parent and a student in reception. Would you please come down?"
Arthur snapped his consent, put the receiver down, and walked downstairs. Students were still milling, having stayed late for extra-curricular activities. Eames' drama club was popular, so was Yusuf's "Fun in Science" class. Cobb was running extra psychology, broadening his theories on dreams. As he walked past the lab, he could see two students stretched out, seemingly asleep, wired up to a graph monitor. He frowned; he would need to talk to Cobb about that.
Arthur entered reception. An older woman was standing, her expression angry. With her was a young man. Whose head was half shaved, had a pierced septum and ear, and was dressed in black leather.
"What seems to be the problem?" Arthur asked, pleasantly.
The mother glared at him. "Apparently, my son should not dress like this in your school!"
Arthur felt his heart sink. Why oh why did Cobb lumber him with situations like this?
"Well," he said, trying to remain calm, "students must present a neat and tidy appearance-"
"It says," she thundered, waving a book of rules in his face, "that they're allowed to wear their own clothing!"
Arthur groaned. "As long as they have a neat and tidy app-"
"Stop repeating that!" she practically screamed at him, causing the reception staff and a few students to look at him. "What are you, a goddamned robot?"
Arthur felt himself bristle. No-one spoke to him like that.
"I'm the Vice Principal," he informed her, "and your son-"
"Oh, yes," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "My son, who you want to turn into a suit wearing robot just like you! Its not going to happen! He's going to another school! Come on, Kevin!"
The woman turned and stormed out, her son following her, throwing Arthur a contemptuous smirk. He felt himself bristle with impotent fury. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the reception area.
"How do I get Arthur on his own, Eames?"
"Oh, its simple, Princess. Go to his office!"
"Why do you want to be a teacher, Arthur?"
"Because I believe in helping young people develop to their full potential, and in realising what they're capable of."
"How would you define a good teacher, Arthur?"
"Patient, fair, compassionate, understanding. Realising that things go on in kids' lives that we may not know about."
"Good answer. What makes a bad one?"
"Humourless, didactic, and obsessed with finer details, like clothing. Who cares what they were?"
Arthur rubbed his face. Had that really been seven years ago? Fresh out of his degree, anxious to start his training, and be a music teacher. Now he was that humourless, didactic tyrant, who shouted at his PA, tried to change his image and got laughed at, and didn't get a chance to teach-
He blinked. He was outside the music room. Swallowing, he looked around. No-one was about. Tom, the music teacher, had called in sick, and as a result, the sub had gone home on the bell.
Arthur walked in.
Tom was an excellent teacher, Arthur knew. He had a passion for music, and was just as happy talking about Alice in Chains as he was about Mozart. He and Arthur had struck up a friendship when he'd first started teaching. The new recruit had been delighted to find out that the VP was a music teacher himself.
"We should form a band," Tom had said, grinning.
"No," Arthur said, blushing. "It'll -"
"Ruin your image?"
"Something like that."
Tom shook his head. Arthur had seen a lot less of him after that.
Frowning, he wandered into the music room. Something struck against his foot, and he looked down. A Fender Telecaster. A beautiful bronze one. He noted the lead was still plugged in.
Suddenly, he didn't care about the paperwork, or about the students. He picked up the guitair, lovingly running his fingers along its slender neck. He pulled the strap over his head, and began to gently strum.
Ariadne pushed the door of Arthur's office open. "Hey, Arthur?"
No response. The room was silent, and his suit jacket was on the back of the chair.
Frowning, she walked away.
"Outside the boxcar waiting,
Outside the family stew,
Out by the fire breathing,
Outside we wait 'til face turns blue..."
Ariadne wandered down the hallway. Suddenly, she stopped. Was that singing she heard coming from the music room? Turning, she hurried up the corridor.
Arthur loved this song by the Pixies. He kept playing and singing, not caring if he was overheard.
"A big, big stone fall and break my crown,
there is a wait so long,
you'll never wait so long!
Here comes your man..."
Ariadne's jaw dropped. She stood by the side of the door, and watched. Arthur...a guitarist? And a singer?
"You'll never wait so long!
Here comes your man!"
She couldn't help it. She began to applause. The Vice Principal jumped up as if he'd been bitten, and turned.
"Who, what?" He blinked, flustered. "Ariadne!"
"Hi, Arthur," she said shyly. "You've got a great voice!"
He went scarlet. "Um, well..."
"And you're a good guitarist!"
"I, um..."
"And I don't know about you, but I could really use a jolt," she said, clearly not bothered by Arthur's embarrassment. "Shall we go for coffee?"
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