Lancer was a simple man.
Someone truly easy to please, you know.
It didn't take much, see. He just had standards to uphold, desires of his own to fulfill, of course, and no one and nothing would stop him from fulfilling such desires.
Even if that involved less...savory things.
He was fine with that, too, the older man mused as he stood from his chair and flicked the light switch of the classroom he inhabited. Taking a clang of his keys in-hand, he turned the knob once, twice, then turned to be on his way, the hallways quiet, deserted, as the distant hum of young voices danced on the air from over yonder, the cafeteria bustling with activity he wanted no parts of.
The riffraff was hard on his ears and his tolerance.
There was only so much he could take at a time, of course.
Dropping the keys back into his pocket, the older man considered the walls, and the lockers, and the posters as he trekked along at an easy, but meaningful, pace.
No reason to keep them waiting too long, he mused.
Coming upon the main office, he entered in, saying nothing to the nosy secretary as he sauntered by, her returning the favor by not acknowledging presence at all. Subtle distaste resonated loudly as he casually knocked into her desk, testing her boundaries as a cold, steely glare tried to cut at him from above the rim of her glasses, but he paid her no heed.
She wasn't even worth looking at.
None of these old broads were.
They'd never be able to satisfy me, anyway.
Upon a broad, wooden door, he rapped his fist upon it's surface, and waited, one breath, two breaths, before a small woman, her box suit, in his very humble opinion, hugging her in all the wrong places (not that he was looking particularly hard; he just happened to notice it, that's all), and he stepped inside, and found himself terribly, horribly pleased in a single moment alone.
There were three others in the room: a disheveled woman, knotted red hair twined around her finger, the second a burly, unyielding man that he took care to look away from, and the third, that harrowing youth, bent and almost too easy to miss with choking presence of who he could only guess was his father, the other man returning his avoidance of his gaze, with just a few glances here and there just as he had been doing the moment he entered the room.
But none of that even registered with him as he tracked the boy, slowly nodding to what Ishiyama had been saying, but even from all the way over here, a short distance that felt like meters to him, he could barely contain his excitement, breaking out into a sudden sweat that made him pat his forehead with the handkerchief that he, thankfully, had in his possession.
The boy didn't look up, but Lancer was quick to see things, quick to notice what others could not, and he could say that same here, noticing with a careful eye the distinct shimmer of fear that racked his small frame. Like a leaf berated by the wind, Michael couldn't stay still, and part of the older man was incredulous, considering the possibility that Ishimaya couldn't have possibly missed that, what, with him right in front of her.
'Though...,' He thought with a smug trill, '...she always did overlook the little things.'
Returning to her chair, the small woman gleaned the group before, rapping her fingers along the desk with strange precision until she worked up the words in her mind, at least, as far as Lancer could tell.
That tick she had, the thinking as she tapped things, was generally more annoying things about her that he couldn't stand, yet infinitely more so in comparison to her stiff, high-pitched grumbling that made her much more akin to a gremlin than an actual human, but at the very least, she was stupidly accommodating to him, so there was always that.
"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Lancer. We that you're a very busy man, but to have you join us in an attempt to solve this...problem...means the world to us." Smiling gingerly in his general direction, he noticed that she wasn't actually looking at him at all.
As a matter of fact, he noticed with some degree of agitation and clarity, she never really looked at anyone else, really.
If she could have her way, he speculated as a smile (or correctly identified as more of a grimace) crept along his features at the mocking compliment, everyone in the world would be just like her, and in that subtle way, all the more infuriating, too.
"Ah, of course, Principal Ishiyama. I would have nothing more than to contribute my particular expertise in redirecting and aiding wayward students. We all need a bit of help sometimes, yes?" With that, he shot a glance at the boy, who'd only made a motion to look up ever...so...slightly...if only for Lancer to spot those quivering blue eyes that were framed with red as he had only noticed how...puffy the boy's face was.
Odd.
But that had nothing to do with him, and the boy, Dash, only seemed to notice that the older man had been looking back at him with equal interest (though for Lancer, it was without the add tremble and wavering expression of recognition), snapping his head back down as if he were hit, eyes forced down to his hands where they gripped the legs of his pants, bunching them so tightly that Lancer feared that his knuckles would split open.
With no amount of discretion, he gagged at the thought of the mess it would make.
"Of course, of course. We all need that extra hand, don't we, Mikey? We know you do, which is why these nice folks took time out of their day, their work, and their lunch break to deal with you. You, of all people. Don't you think that warrants just the smallest amount of gratitude, Mikey? Don't you?" The boy nodded quickly, and if the room hadn't been as quiet at it was right then, they all surely would have missed the smallest apology he had ever heard, just barely above a whisper, as if the action of just speaking was of great strain to him.
But it was Allen's own booming voice that sliced through the thickening air as he grasped the back of Michael's head, and bent him forward, and forward more, until his head rested between his own knees, the child stumbling just a bit out of his chair, but he managed to grasp the sides of it just in time, gripping it as he planted his feet as firmly as he could just to keep himself from closing the distance between him and floor. Allen bent forward as well, placing his elbows upon his knees whilst his mouth moved, blasts of sound ringing around them.
"Oh, I didn't quite get that, Mikey. Do you think that you could repeat that? I don't they got what you said, either." Michael didn't move, in fact, Lancer regarded with primal interest that peaked past his surprise, he didn't seem to be breathing either, but when a ragged, shaky breath split quietly from his mouth, all of them waited, waited with clasped hands and twining hair as the boy seemed to be trying to speak, but nothing was coming out.
At least, they thought that he was trying.
They couldn't see his face from the angle that Allen had put him into.
When a few moments had passed, moments that felt more like an eternity for the uncomfortable silence that predated tiny sobs, the quietest of sounds that made even Ishiyama squirm uncomfortably in her chair, it was her that spoke up, much to Lancer's surprise.
"Oh, uh, that isn't necessary, Mr. Baxter, truly. I think that we can all agree that Michael will be properly handled for his misconduct, so you needn't-," Allen began to chuckle, pushing the boy's head down further until he slipped from the chair, tumbling onto the floor.
"Ah, man, my hand must have slipped, huh? Sometimes, I just don't know my own strength, heh heh..." The older man made no motion to help his son off of the ground, Michael muttering, louder this time, a plethora of apologies as he peeled himself from the polished tile and set his chair back upon its legs, easing carefully into the chair, though Lancer could still see his trembling, worse now than before, but no one said anything.
Not for awhile until it was him, Lancer, that spoke up first, sensing the odd air that had settled in beside the tension, but there was no use in mentioning it.
As far as he was concerned, the boy was asking for it anyway.
"Ah, so, we've been considering keeping him is ISS for a while. You know, just to give the other students a bit of time to breathe and him a more stable environment where he can complete his work without...distractions, so to speak. Isn't that right, Principal Ishiyama?" As if shaking her from a stupor, the younger woman nodded slowly, not-so-subtly eying Allen before turning to the two of them, Mira and Lancer as if finding less discomfort in regarding them than the other, who'd since returned to his eased position in his chair, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.
"Yes, yes. A bit of In-School Suspension, and some mild surveillance to make sure that he is on the right track, and that is precisely where Mr. Lancer comes into play. Care to elaborate, hmm?" The older man stepped forward just as she finished, placing careful hands upon the boy's shoulders that trembled along with the violent shivers that clasped down upon the boy, but as with before, he didn't move away, he didn't resist.
He liked when they didn't resist.
"Ah, that's right! A few of the teachers thought some after school time would do him well as his grades, even from just the little time that school has been in-session, have been lackluster, and we figured he would need the extra help. Which is why we thought it would be a good idea if he stayed with me after hours. Just an hour a day, mind you, so it wouldn't be long, but having a guardian watch after his work, help him with questions, things like that." He ended by not-so-gently rubbing Dash's head, chuckling as he did so. The older man didn't bother to look where knew Allen was staring at him, black, beady eyes lied in wait for fear that he would break his carefully set smile.
Now was the time to keep up appearances.
Allen considered it for a moment and Mira tried her hardest to look as if she were listening at all, deftly looking to her husband to mimic the same movements, though he knew that both Ishiyama and himself knew that she was helplessly out of the loop. In fact, he noted, she looked a bit out of it anyway.
Not that he cared, really, but she really seemed like a strange woman altogether.
Allen coughed to get their attention, and spoke, voice strangely calm, something Lancer didn't see coming from what looked like a disheveled middle-aged man. In fact, the older man thought as he picked at Allen's visage, there was something oddly familiar about him.
Something that he just...couldn't...place.
"And you said it was just for an hour, correct? Each afternoon, yes? I'm guessing from dismissal at 02:30 to just a bit after 03:30 each day, yes? How long do you think he'll need to keep this up? He does have certain...things that he needs to be home for in the afternoons." With this, he placed his hand back upon the boy's leg, squeezing firmly in his grasp, turning away from Lancer and only minding the woman across from him who had since regained her composure.
"Yes, from those times for the after-school sessions, and as for the In-School Suspension, we were thinking the very first five weeks, just half of the quarter, then we'll assess his behavior to see how well he took to Spectra's guidance and a bit of time with ISS to make sure that we can sort out any extra issues. Is that okay with everyone?" From each individual, she checked: Allen confirmed it, clenching his son's leg tightly, Mira mirrored his actions, and Lancer nodded gingerly, though he noticed that she didn't check to make sure Michael had agreed.
Not that he needed to be.
Lancer wasn't concerned with that at all.
A wide smile eased on her face, though something lingered, but Ishiyama paid it little mind as she regarded the watch upon her wrist.
"Alright. I feel as though we have covered much ground today. Because of scheduling, Lancer won't be able to start today, though he was very adamant to do so. I suggested that he compile some notes and things, and Dash can spend his afternoons with his make-up work and things like that." Reaching into a drawer to her left, she took out a manila folder with little inside but just a small stack of papers. Opening it, she took out a few, sliding them across the desk to Allen and Mira, and handing one to Lancer as well. The three inspected it (more like Mira just sort of glanced at it in hand; she'd long since went back to inspecting her split ends before the two of them finished looking at it).
It was a long moment before any of them spoke again.
"So I'm guessing that this a guideline of sorts? Like an overview of what he should be learning or something like that?" Allen could feign his disinterest, barely hiding it behind a loose grin as he waved the paper about, setting it back upon her desk with a heavy hand, Mira, again, copying his actions.
Lancer couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of a grown woman acting that way, like a child needing directing, but even more so, he agreed, placing his own copy back upon the desk. He regarded the listing of, admittedly, basic classes, the rudimentary work needed for each of them something that a ninth grader (or perhaps even a particularly capable eighth grader) would have been able to handle with little help.
Was it really this bad?
"Yes, actually. From his assessments last year and his current work abilities, a lot of the faculty figured it would actually be helpful if we compiled a sort of, how do you say...record, that is, of what he needs to succeed to do just the bare minimum of passing for this year." Lancer could see that.
From pre-algebra to world history, there were gaps just about everywhere in terms of just how much help the boy needed.
Was he really that bad off?
"Now, I see that there are a lot, well, basic courses mixed in there, and that's because we noticed quite a bit of struggle with the coursework that was allotted last year. This does involve a bit of back-tracking, but this should help catch his up a bit." Sitting it back upon the desk, the paper, as far as Lancer, held the same information, yet he couldn't really stop himself from being at least a little surprised himself.
'I never thought that Ishiyama would put this much work into, well, anything. To see her putting this much into someone else, and the little idiot to boot...,' He would have been at least a little swayed if he hadn't known it wasn't for nothing, if it had been for literally ANYONE else in the entire school, knowing immediately that none of this would stick with the imbecile.
"This is all well and good, when should we actually have him come after school. I'm open for Monday afternoon so we can have that one-on-one time, especially since I see that he looks like he needs a bit more help in literature and reading comprehension, something that, if you hadn't noticed, I am incredibly proficient at." And he'd make sure that they knew it took, sticking his nose into the air as he looked at them, but more than that, he reminded with stark prose through the haze of prose and comedy that rang in his mind, he had a mission.
A purpose.
Something to gain.
After all, the boy would need to earn his keep to get his help, and help him he would.
So long as little Michael did something for him, too.
Lancer could feel himself growing hotter, his face redder as the thoughts began to swarm about, but he silenced them as best as he could.
'Keep your composure, Benjamin. No need to get too flustered...yet.' Smoothing down his shirt, he had only just realized that the two of them, Allen and Ishiyama, had been speaking whilst he was...well, that didn't matter so much, he reminded himself, straightening as he waited for her to respond.
Ishiyama considered it for a moment, and for a minute, a moment, just before she went to speak, Lancer and Allen met eyes.
Just a second for it to click in Lancer's mind as those piercing, empty beads, black as onyx looked back at him with equal parts recognition that he had himself.
He...he knew him, and Allen did, too.
"I don't see why you wouldn't be able to do that. Would that be okay, Mr. Baxter? That way, it can be on the exact same day that he's supposed to meet with the guidance counselor, too." Looking away from Mr. Lancer, Michael's father nodded at her, never looking back at the english teacher.
Not once after that.
"Ah, yeah. That would be just fine, wouldn't it, Mikey?" Allen clapped a hand over Dash's shoulder, but the boy didn't move.
He never moved.
"I asked you something. I asked if you liked that idea. They're helping you; don't you have anything to say?" Lancer figured he'd whispered again, but this time, the boy spoke up, his voice clearer, though Lancer couldn't quite place it.
It sounded sort of...empty.
This kid wasn't acting anything like the loud, irritating, sea urchin he usually was, and in his mind, the older man sang with delight, this was a much needed improvement over the alternative.
"Yes, yes I like this idea a lot. Thank you." His expression didn't change.
And for a bit, no one did anything.
Then they went on, as if he had never spoken at all.
"So, I imagine that concludes this meeting, but please, if you have any other question, please do not hesitate to call me or any of the faculty members over the course of the weekend. We'll need a bit of time to communicate with his teachers to compile a smaller set of work, but we should be ready in about a week or so, but we'll call you and him when we're prepared for him." With that, she stood, ushering to walk them out of the class, nodding to Lancer as he went to see himself out.
He was very much over the situation.
He had gotten what he wanted.
Stepping out of the office, he noticed that they hadn't left, though their pace had been a bit quicker than his own, and looking back, he could see that the door was still open, small murmurs quaking from the door until someone (he couldn't see who) snaked towards the door and begin to shut it, but it was left a bit ajar. Backing up on his heels, he carefully leaned in, somewhat aware of the invasion of privacy that this act was bringing, but Lancer was never really upset at his lack of tact.
It had never failed him before.
With a sharp ear, he could just pick up what they were talking about, Allen's voice the quietest that he had heard it in the thirty minutes that he had been around him in a long time, sounding somewhat annoyed and Ishiyama strangely quiet throughout all of it.
"I don't want him to be seen...the nurse...I can handle him...," His hushed voice rang with agitation, and from the sliver in the door, he could see just how much he towered over the small woman, his massive, hulking body appearing to pulse with an incandescent anger so virulent that he could feel it through the crack in the door. It was nauseating how threatening that aura was, and even more, how he seemed to command the room.
He knew how to be heard.
And he would be heard.
"I understand that...but we have to...confidential...student safety...," Ishiyama's voice retorted with much less push, as a matter of fact, Lancer considered curiously, she looked...uncertain? She was forced to look up, from as far as he could tell, her tiny, plump body tipped at an unnatural angle in an attempt to, with little success he was sure given Allen's height, to even meet his chin, but he knew that his dark, unsettling gaze was on her, staring down at her. The former didn't seem pleased, though, at his development, his voice still quiet, but his tone sharper, like blades lashing and slashing at his target.
"I don't care...keep him out...I'm his parent...he will not...the nurse...do you understand?" Without even seeing his expression, he immediately knew that it wasn't a question, it was a command.
A command that even Ishiyama knew that she wanted to follow, the man before her more akin to a wild animal that needed to be placated.
And she followed that instinct.
"Of course...I deeply apologize...never our intention...I'll call down...Bellworth..." Lancer cringed, recalling that named with some degree of exhaustion as he recalled the young woman.
Of course, she was nice enough, he supposed, stepping back from the door, passing the secretary that didn't seem even the least bit bothered as he stepped back from the hallway, having clearly been eavesdropping. But there was something about her that made him grit her teeth, that made him want to...well, violence wasn't of his taste.
She was infinitely nosy.
And infinitely more vocal than he'd like her to be.
Passing through the door, he spotted her, a ratty, torn, and dirty varsity jacket in her arms, despite his clear reeking stench, and she noticed him, stopping him in the hallway in front of the office with a smile, a genuine smile as far as he could tell.
What a bother.
"Oh, hello, Benjamin! How are you today? Are you feeling okay? You look a bit...flushed." She went to inspect him, barely noticing how the older man had begun to grit his teeth, jerking away as she went to look closer to his face, but he forced a taut smile on his face, gazing down at the doe eyed woman with what he tried his best to make look like earnest interest, but all he could feel was disdain.
Disdain for the smile.
Disdain for her irritating voice.
Disdain for her need to know what she didn't need to.
Even after just meeting her, all those months ago, he could tell what kind of person she was, and he made it his business not to get too involved with her.
'She'll only make things more difficult.' The older man reasoned as he avoided her in the hallways.
'She's terribly persistent.' He would think with every bit of agitation he could muster as he forced himself to speak to her when she greeted him.
Part of him figured that she was aware of his...distaste for the nosy, irritating woman, but still, even with that in mind, he just could not fathom why it was that she kept at it, inflicting himself on him and just about everyone of the faculty members. Some loved her, adoring her and asking about her life before Amity, but he really couldn't be bothered then, and he surely couldn't be bothered now.
"I should really be asking you the same thing, Bellworth. Not getting much sleep, hm?" This may have been the first time he had stuck around her for too long, but his words did have an air of truth to them. Her chestnut hair was frazzled in the loose bun that she had tied it into, her eyes framed with bags to mark her exhaustion, yet she looked distinctly aware. Far more aware then someone that looked like they need about a year of sleep should, but she smiled at him, flashing pearly white teeth that made him want to pull them out.
"Ah, well, yeah. You're pretty much spot on; I've been having a lot on my mind as of late..." She trailed off, and if he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn that she hugged the rancid jacket closer to her, but he decided not to pry.
Not yet, anyway.
The young woman pulled her eyes away from him as the secretary opened the door to the office just as she responded, her fowl scowl all the more welcome to the sticky, saccharine advances the younger woman had made, yet for once, Lancer wished she could stick around a bit longer, his interest successfully piqued. However, something he didn't expect was for the usually disinterested, moody older woman to crack a small smile, and her voice was distinctly softer, more akin to a grandparent than the screeching banshee she usually was. She looked at the jacket with mild confusion, but didn't push the topic, instead laying her wrinkled hand upon Bellworth's arm, as if to guide her.
"Ah, Sarah, there you are. Principal Ishiyama and the others are waiting for you in her office, so you might want to scurry along." Of course, she made no move to even acknowledge that Lancer was even there, hardly glancing in his direction before pulling the woman with her, Bellworth turning back to wave to him.
"Uh, nice seeing you, Benjamin! Maybe we can talk again, soon?" And with the, she and the old wench was gone, the two of them appearing to have a pleasant conversation as the secretary led her to the door and shut it softly behind her.
'Well, no point loitering about here. Might as well get back to my own class since lunch will be over in about a minute or so.' With that, the older man began the journey back to his own room, a few new things to look forward to.
