SUMMARY: Cloud Strife, an Industrial Arts teacher at Midgar Preparatory High school, is facing new management halfway through the school year, headed by an old flame, Tifa Lockhart. Despite a complicated history and dueling odds, both strive to empower their students while fostering some semblance of a life within a guarded campus where traditions can imprison and rumors can mangle.
"Focuses on the systematic understanding of social interaction, organization, institutions, and change as pertains to groups and individuals. Students will gain an understanding of basic social processes such as deviance and conformity, and basic institutions such as the economy, the government, the family, religion, education."
[ : The Curriculum : ]
Chapter 1 | Sociology
Cloud Strife didn't believe in Hell.
At least he hadn't until he was jarred awake by the impotent wheezing of the air conditioner, limbs tangled in sweat-stained sheets, certain he was breathing in molasses. Groaning, the twenty-seven-year-old puddle of a man sat up and peeled off a shirt that was more sponge than clothing by that point.
It was January, for Goddess' sake. This weather was officially insane.
Yanking black-framed glasses off the nightstand and onto his face, Cloud stared out the window until the campus gates and flat, dead plains beyond came into focus, feeling a pang for the white-frosted mountains that used to twinkle at him in greeting.
That was a long time ago.
This was his choice and the sooner he got used to it, the better. If only he could acclimatize to that acrid, burning plastic smell…
"Shit!"
Spurred by a telltale whiff of smoke, Cloud leapt to his feet on top of the mattress to yank off the air conditioner's panel and disconnect the sparking power source, wincing as he realized how close he had come to manslaughtering himself and his colleagues had he slept a minute longer. Six months he had lived in this tinder/shoe box and he had replaced the condenser fan motor twice, too impatient to await the maintenance team whose priorities lay at the bottom of a pastry box. Admittedly, he shouldn't have had high hopes for a ten-year-old, rusted part gleaned from the junkyard.
On that high, overcooked note, his day began.
Within fifteen minutes, Cloud had showered off a latex-thick layer of perspiration, dressed in a blue button-down, thin black tie and slacks, ran a hand through his untameable blonde locks if only to confirm they were still untameable, and was traipsing down the staircase with a slice of toast dangling between his teeth. It was the first day of the Winter semester and he was determined to summon the guts to talk to Heidegger, the Headmaster, about increasing the materials budget for his class. It wasn't that he was afraid, as imposing as the man was in every sense of the word; a literal giant with an even loftier pedigree. Cloud simply loathed talking to anyone without life or death necessity.
"Heya Strife." Barret Wallace, the physical education teacher, greeted with a loose salute as he exited the building. The tank of a man was sipping a smoothie on a lounger that encompassed his entire front porch, fanning himself with a bodybuilding magazine. He was one of the few on staff granted a closed-bedroom unit on the ground floor with the luxury of a meager outdoor space since he shared it with his daughter, a scholarship student. "Hope you had a good holiday away from this sweatshop. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll surrender some ice for our balls, eh?!"
Cloud chewed on his toast to suppress a cringe as the guy guffawed and slapped his knee. Why Wallace tried, everyday, to invoke some sort of brotherly camaraderie was a mystery, for Cloud never displayed the slightest interest in being anything more than colleagues.
At a complete loss of how to respond, he was still frozen on the entrance stairs, mindlessly gnawing his breakfast like a gerbil, when Barret's daughter appeared beyond the screen doors.
"Morning, Mr. Strife," the sixteen year old greeted with a pinky wave, and Cloud felt the tension evaporate like raindrops on a skillet. Something about that sarcastic kid, currently dressed in the uniform black kilt, white polo and grey vest all of which were fraying at the edges, hair held back by a lopsided scrunchie that matched the emerald school tie, made him feel at ease. As if they were both resilient herbs among a garden of roses.
"Hey Marlene. I'll be seeing you in class later, right?"
"Oh no, sorry Mr. Strife. I decided to switch to macrame over break. Hand woven textiles assure me a much more promising future, don't you think?" Her smirk was semi-hidden beneath the rim of a 'Keep on Rockin' in Midgar' coffee mug.
Cloud scoffed. Served him right for daring to doubt. "You're funny, kid."
"So I've been told." Swatting her father's legs away, she took a seat at the end of the lounger. "I'll be over a bit later. Daddy finally got an appointment at the free clinic and I need to make sure he gets on the right bus this time."
"Pft. Like hell you do. I'm a grown-ass man!"
"A grown-ass man who has gotten lost not once, but thrice!"
"Why I oughta…" Reaching up, Barret's beefy hand caught Marlene around the back of the neck to pull her into some amalgamation of a headlock and hug and she yelped in thrilled mock-terror. "If you weren't the sweetest, smartess, coolest kid in the universe, I'd-"
"Well, it's getting late," Cloud interrupted, scratching behind his ear, at a complete loss as to how to gracefully bow out of a wrestling enactment you sure as hell never bought tickets for. "Umm, cheers. I guess."
Six months he had lived there. Probably over one hundred times he had bumped into Marlene and/or Barret on his way out or in and it never got any more eloquent than that.
With little time to waste, Cloud jogged down the fern-lined path leading to the main road dividing the campus. The school-building proper was a mere five minute walk away, but on a scorcher like today, it may as well be a marathon. The cement shimmered as he approached, making the newly constructed student residence on the other side dance like a desert mirage. To his left were the entrance gates leading to the city; the tip of the pizza-slice shaped property, beyond which was nothing but yellow grass and steel, while at the end of the road to the right, to his eternal awe, was the temple-turned-high school of Midgar Preparatory in all its ivy-covered glory. A grin could not help but tug onto his lips, even though he had to loosen his tie to cope with shallow breath, as he took in the building he hadn't seen since before the two-week winter solstice holiday. It was strange to think that he missed the place but then realized it was probably the non-smog thickened air that his lungs were reacting to. His time away hadn't exactly been filled with swimming pools and cocktail hours.
Located a mere mile out from the city, Midgar Preparatory was one of the only, if not the only, protected plots of land left on the entire continent. Decades after realizing that pumping the planet's lifeblood for power probably wasn't the wisest endeavor for future generations, those with the greatest influence bestowed a mere 25-acre, virgin sliver to its most promising youth, complemented with what passed for a "forest" as a backdrop along the crust.
It was more expansive space and greenery than most born-Midgarians could imagine. Still, on most days, Cloud found it overcrowded. Then again, he found a football field crowded if there was one body beyond the essential players.
The main building was structured around a Makology temple as its core, complete with ornate stained-glass windows and stonework; feats of ancient structural engineering which Cloud could never not appreciate every day he walked up the dusty, central road. More modern, steel wings had been added over the years, including a gym, staff room and cafeteria to the right (east), offices on the second level of the chapel itself, and various aging laboratories, including his Industrial Arts workshop, to the left (west).
It really wasn't so bad a place to work, Cloud tried to assure himself just as a purple convertible raced past, kicking dust into his already stinging eyes. Coughing, he tried to identify the car as it slid crookedly into one of the most coveted parking spots nearest to the door. Another one of the few job perks was the magnificent machinery he was allowed to marvel at up close, sponsored by the most elite families. Even from afar, it wasn't hard to recognise the blonde, slicked back hair of Rupert Shinra, the Chairman's son, sliding out of the passenger seat and smirking at the other students trudging in from residence, tossing his keys in the air and catching them like some sort of ringleader before slamming the door with his hip.
Looks like someone had an especially profitable solstice holiday. To no one's surprise.
There wasn't time to wallow in the unfairness of life, for the bell rang seconds after he stepped onto the manicured grass of the front gardens.
Usually, this would be no cause for concern, as he was a temp without a homeroom to babysit. However, he vaguely recalled Zack mentioning something about the first day and some special assembly...
"Shit," he cussed for the second time that morning. Grateful that there were no students within earshot, Cloud clutched his leather satchel and sprinted up the steps directly toward the temple doors instead of the usual side staff entrance.
Apparently, there was no avoiding him barreling into another semester flustered and already out of sync.
There were exactly two seconds to spare before the temple's Primar, Domino, draped in black robes with an ostentatiously thick gold-chain collar dotted with round emeralds in each link, rang his handbell to call for silence. Much like a plague doctor would summon mourners to bring out their dead. Thankfully, as it was the first day post-vacation, it was easy to sneak behind a flock of students and make his way toward the side-wall pews usually occupied by the choir during Saturday service. Or so he had been told, since he had yet to ever attend. Zack had a seat saved; his favorite one hidden deepest in the shadows of the balcony and at the very end so that he wouldn't have to rub shoulders with anyone else.
Aerith Gainsborough, the school medic, was one place beyond Zack and offered a warm smile in greeting. As luminescent as ever, she wore a pale yellow sundress and matching cardigan, cinched at the collar with a gold halo and spherical emerald brooch, long auburn hair falling down one shoulder in a fishtail braid. Cloud often wondered if her intention was to personify spring with all those pastels, florals, ribbons and sunshine, green eyes as vivid as the well-fed grass. Maybe she thought it kept her patients trusting and calm. Such girlish charms made it easy to forget she was a damn brilliant medic who could have easily become a proper doctor had circumstances allowed.
Zack Fair was the complete opposite, style-wise, with black hair that fell rakishly into his eyes, pressed navy suit cut to a perfect slim fit, sleeves rolled up to allow just a hint of that cool-guy dishevelment which made him oh-so-popular with his English Lit. students. Considering his own wrinkled pants, crooked tie and thick-framed glasses, Cloud could not help but feel a bit like a pigeon next to a hawk. At least it was a feeling he was very much accustomed to.
"Thanks," Cloud whispered, sliding against the blissfully cool mahogany. This temple, above all other more efficiently insulated rooms, had priority air conditioning for reasons he would never understand but wasn't about to complain. "I just-"
"Forgot," Zack finished with a cocky grin, keeping his voice low as the Primar tutted at tardy students still elbowing their way into the last remaining pew seats. "Figured you would. Texted you a reminder an hour ago and yet..."
He held up an open palm in front of Aerith's face. Sighing, she slapped a twenty-five gil coin into it before flashing Cloud an apologetic grimace.
Frowning more at his device's lack of a chime than their bets, Cloud fished the ancient PHS out of his satchel. Sure enough, there were two unread messages blinking across the cracked screen: one from Zack reminding him of the early assembly and another from his mother thanking him for the taffy he had managed to sneak in via a hollowed-out romance novel.
"Sorry," he muttered non-committedly, glancing up onto the altar proper which was barely visible from this angle. There were a lot more bodies up there than the usual gaggle of administrators and executives. At least thirty adults were seated into three rows, all wearing uniquely altered versions of the black, green and gold robe that marked them as campus bigwigs. If he had to guess, it appeared to be the entire school board, including Chairman Rufus Shinra and a few other illustrious members he recognized from the papers, Scarlet Saber and Reeve Tuesti; all parent-patron-alumni who tended to only show up when caviar and champagne was being served.
Though Cloud's MO was to slump in his seat and catch a bit of a nap during these things, his curiosity was unavoidably roused. "Anything special happening today?"
The much taller Zack leaned sideways until the shoulder pad of his suit jacket brushed Cloud's cheek. "Well duh. They're introducing the new Headmaster."
"The what?"
"Shh," Aerith chastised in half reprimand, half amusement, smile invulnerable beneath the finger on her lip.
"All rise!" Primar Domino made a sweeping gesture with both arms outstretched and, like puppets on strings, the entire board sitting upon the altar, all three hundred students and most of the faculty were pulled to their feet for the opening chant.
Zack flipped open one of the leather-bound tomes containing the lyrics and held it high enough so that it hid his and Cloud's faces. "Dude, seriously, you have got to read your freakin' memos!"
Cloud fists dug deep into his pockets. "I've been-"
"Busy, yeah. So you've said. Mystery vacation or whatever. Regardless, they send them both on paper and electronically nowadays, so that's no excuse. Don't make me regret recommending you."
"Ha. Like you haven't already regretted it."
"True. It's like once a day at this point."
"That's generous. I thought it would be once an hour at least."
"Here we are, minute one of our blessed reunion, and you're already pissing me off. It's a new record. Congratu-fucking-lations!"
Beside them, Aerith's singing devolved into a snort. Aiming to catch up with the rest of the congregation, her typically soft soprano rose in pitch to block out their bickering.
Undeterred, Zack continued, his frustration never lasting more than the few seconds it took to roll off his tongue. "Your hopelessness aside, Heidegger was tossed out on his overpadded backside some point over break. Rumor has it that his accounting books were a little tilted. Enough to drip into a secret Costa Del Sol account."
"That's mere conjecture," Aerith hissed, unable to avoid getting sucked in. "We don't know it's true!"
"You're right. Sorry!" Only after she rejoined the chant did Zack turn to Cloud and mouth 'it's totally true'.
Cloud figured it was, but was reluctant to give the subject any more heft. Heidegger was one of the only staff members who hadn't lived on campus, instead purchasing a townhouse up on the prestigious Sector 8 plate where a handful of students originated. It was the only area of Midgar with a realistic commuting time, which was one of the many reasons most students lived in campus residence. Or, if one refused to forego the comforts of a home in a further sector, some procured racetrack-worthy sports cars to make up the time, like the young Shinra. Cloud could not fathom how a Headmaster afforded to live plate-side and never cared to try. Almost everyone here had family money, it seemed. Million gil cushions were as prevalent as hickeys and just as badly concealed.
Hoping to redeem himself to Zack while warding away boredom, Cloud whipped out his PHS to peruse his work email for the first time in two blissful though unintentional weeks of ignorance. Over eight-two unread messages ranged from mundane fundraiser reminders to actual important updates that affected his schedule. Kisaragi, the Headmaster's assistant, had sent him a warning that his Junior and Senior classes would be merged into one this semester due to low enrollment. Cloud raised a hand to his mouth to subvert a grin. That meant, including the Sophomore introductory class, he'd only have two double and two single periods to teach and more than half his schedule would otherwise be free for office hours or personal projects.
Perfect.
"You may be seated." When Primar Domino wrapped up the chant, Zack had to yank him by the tie to get him to sit down and slide the phone back in his bag. First being late then almost caught on a device during assembly. It was indeed a miracle he wasn't fired yet. Or, more specifically, that a successful, popular guy like Zack Fair gave enough of a shit to cover for him was the real miracle.
Domino proceeded to ramble on for untold minutes. Something about Goddess' Light. Something about The Promised Land. Yadda-yadda-yadda. Cloud had already crossed his arms over his chest and was starting to slouch when Zack poked him.
"Yo. Why do you think Doctor Creepy is up there and not sitting with us underlings?"
Sighing, Cloud popped one eye open if only to humor him. Doctor Hojo, the Biology teacher who never dared let you forget that he was the most highly educated on staff, was indeed missing from the ranks of the wall pews. Instead, he was spotted upon the altar in the second row just behind Rufus Shinra and Scarlet Saber in a newly outfitted robe. Despite really, really, not wanting to care, Cloud's back stiffened involuntarily. He glanced toward Aerith and noticed she too was ramrod straight, wringing her hands in her lap.
They were announcing a new Headmaster today...
"Oh noooooo." A little late to the party, Zack seemed to have arrived at the same, terrifying conclusion. "They wouldn't, right? I mean...the guy's not exactly-"
The words were left hanging once they noticed Shera, the Chemistry teacher, shooting them a motherly evil-eye. Not that Cloud needed any elaboration. Hojo notoriously wasn't the most sympathetic of people let alone educators. At least once a week Aerith had to treat some chemical burn or scalpel cut as he was more focused on personal experiments than student safety. After Heidegger, it would have been hard to imagine a suckier, more intimidating boss.
"Good morning fair students and staff. A few announcements before we start off what is sure to be a profitable Winter semester." Chairman of the board Rufus Shinra, a slightly taller, more imposing copy of his son down to the slicked blonde hair and holier-than-thou attitude, had taken over the podium. His stare slithered over the sea of students and staff as though he were a bear and they, leaping salmon. "First I want to extend congratulations to Doctor Tetsuya Hojo, who was recently awarded the prestigious Lucretian Grant to continue research into mako therapy. Regrettably, though he will still be presiding over his on-campus laboratories, he will not be teaching any classes this semester."
"Woohoo!" Some overly brave student dared to shout, triggering bursts of giggles among the pews. They were short lived though, as a pointed glare from both Shinra and Hojo spurred the same reaction as a loaded gun.
Beside him, Cloud felt Zack's shoulders lose their tenseness. Aerith too seemed to unwind and her smile turned back up to full, blinding brightness. Cloud, however, didn't dare permit any modicum of relief. If life had taught him anything, things could and usually did get worse.
"Now for the news I'm sure you are all eager for. Upon Headmaster Heidegger's honorable though unexpected retirement..." Twas a convenient choice of words indeed, spurring murmurs among both the staff and student ranks. "We have been scouring the planet's most impressive academics for a worthy replacement. I am thrilled to announce that we believe we have found her."
"Her?!" Zack repeated, jaw dropping like a busted ventriloquist's doll.
Even Aerith broke her respectful stoicism to gasp, both fists held up as if to rein in her excitement. There had never been a female head of school in its century-long history. Hell, female faculty hadn't even been allowed until ten years ago, female students a mere twenty-five years ago.
"Please join me in welcoming…"
Cloud didn't exactly know why, but his heart started hammering against his ribcage. For reasons that made absolutely no sense, he felt like everything was on the cusp of exploding. This placid life, though boring and predictable, had just started to wrap itself around him like a cozy little tomb. He was comfortable here. He didn't want it to change.
It would have been hard to think of someone more horrifying than Doctor Hojo to become his next boss. But she...
"Headmistress Tifa Lockhart!"
...was a definite, if not the only, contender.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkkkkk," he breathed much too loudly. Luckily, the curse was drowned out by roaring applause as the woman of the hour rose from the frontmost pew and made her way to the podium.
Zack of course picked up on the rare expletive and revved up analysis between hand slaps. "Tifa." Clap. "Where." Clap. " Do I know." Clap. "That name?"
Cloud peered at his friend as panic blanched his expression, praying that he wouldn't remember.
Last year, before he had been officially hired, Cloud had joined one of Zack's infamous "Their. There. They're." evenings; basically an excuse to drink and feel sorry for oneself while dredging through infinite pages of grammar and spelling corrections. They had been one (or four) glasses of corel liquor passed shitfaced when the salacious tale had come spewing out of his mouth much like the vomit that arrived soon afterwards.
That damn night was one of the many reasons he swore off drinking though it was also what led to them truly becoming friends, upon nursing one another through the most legendary of hangovers. The kind of hangover where it hurt to blink and flicking wayward popcorn kernels to each other as they both lay sprawled under the table was the only way to survive. Other particulars, like exactly how much detail he had relinquished, would be forever lost to blackout.
"Wait a minute. Tifa!" The applause started to die just as Zack shot one finger up in silent eureka. "Isn't that the name of the chick with whom you lost your…" Lunging, Cloud slapped a hand to the guy's mouth, mortified beyond all reason.
This extreme reaction, especially from a guy who only dared to let his guard down around engines, was all the evidence Zack needed. The older man's shoulders started to shake with barely suppressed giggles as he raised both arms, surrendering.
Not having much of a choice, considering how both Aerith and Shera were glaring as if they had gone mad, Cloud let his fingers drop before thumping his head back against the wood paneling so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose.
This couldn't be happening.
"Thank you all, so much, for the warm welcome! Wow!"
But it was happening. He would recognize that voice anywhere, even though it had deepened and become refined, more confident, in a little under a decade. He remembered it fussing over his bruised knees at the playground. He remembered it making grandiose claims via a megaphone during class presidential elections.
Mostly, he remembered it gasping his name…
Eyes popping open, refusing to drown in such volatile memory, Cloud sat up and forced himself to pay attention.
It was time to meet the new boss.
"A little about me." He watched, helpless, as she cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ears. Hair, he was inexplicably glad to note, which still shone in dark waves all the way down to her lower back. "My name is Tifa but, I suppose, you will all come to know me as Headmistress Lockhart. I understand that I am the youngest person to have been offered this position as well as the first female, but I believe a fresh, modern perspective is necessary to lead this prestigious school and each student into the...divine light of the Goddess."
"Nice. Very nice," Zack muttered from the corner of his mouth, nodding in approval. "High-fiving the Goddess within four sentences, wearing that pin, acknowledging the elephant of her age and gender straight off the bat. Smart."
Cloud didn't comment. Saying Tifa was smart was the equivalent of calling this day humid. It was obvious to anyone who breathed.
The only thing he may have pointed out, if pressed, as being not-so-smart was her choice of clothing. She was dressed in what he could only describe as 'sporty-business-casual'; a black fitted mini skirt and blazer made out of curve-hugging stretch fabric with a violet tank top beneath, gold halo pinned to her breast pocket. Those still impressively long legs of hers were encased in black sheer pantyhose held up by garters, concluding in thick heeled, suede ankle boots. It would have been considered a professional, practical outfit had it been showcased anywhere beyond these walls.
But Midgar Preparatory wasn't the average high school. If her name was still Lockhart, it meant she was unmarried. Which meant…
Cloud glanced over at Scarlet Saber; mother of Senior student Septina Saber, high ranking board member and head of the ethics committee. Though she technically shouldn't judge considering the neckline of her custom black robe plunged down to her navel, gold and emerald halo necklace practically drowning in cleavage, the way she was sneering at Tifa - like one would look at a piece of gum stuck to your shoe - left no doubt in his mind that the first of many rulebooks to be shoved down her throat would be the dress code for unattached females.
As perspective as ever, Tifa seemed to become aware of this a mere minute into her speech, unconsciously tugging at her skirt hem as she spoke. "Please be assured that, though new, I am more than qualified for this post. I have a Masters in Business Administration and two very successful years as vice-principal at Junon Public High. I expect I will need some assistance learning the ropes and request your patience and understanding as we all settle into a new rhythm. I believe all of you can achieve your dreams and I will be there to help guide you. I promise. And if you must know one personal fact about me..." She scanned the room then, taking her time, as if aiming to make eye contact with every single student out there. Instinctively, Cloud sunk further into the shadows though it proved to be unnecessary since she avoided the staff lined against the wall. "I never break a promise. Thank you. Now let's get you all educated!"
An unusually tumultuous applause followed as the freshly minted Headmistress Lockhart took an empty chair among the board members and Primar Domino returned to the podium for closing prayer. The mere volume of the crowd's reaction proved how starved they had been for change and this was the first hint that it was not only possible, but on the horizon. Some hooting and whistles from the male students probably didn't help Scarlet's impression but that was a hurdle Cloud was sure she could handle.
Tifa, at least the one he had known back in their hometown, was capable of handling anything with grace, dignity and, if necessary, sheer power of will. Tifa made things happen that no one could ever have imagined happening. All she needed was to want it badly enough.
"Please rise for the blessing." Another yank of the Primar's arms and they were all back on their feet. Beside him, Zack and Aerith clasped their hands below their chins and began to recite the poem all had been trained to spew since infancy. All except Cloud.
"Our mother, who areth in the Promised Land,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy will be done-"
Tuning it out was a habit by this point, but he wasn't so bold as to do anything completely disrespectful like pull out his phone. Instead, Cloud took the opportunity to peruse the pews overflowing with students, glad to recognize a few faces, wondering who had dared rise to the challenge and stick with his admittedly unorthodox class this semester. He had almost forgotten about the source of his discomfort when his gaze wandered over to the altar and met another set of eyes.
A uniquely wine-colored pair that always had and still did make him feel a bizarre sort of day-drunk.
Her eyes.
Tifa Lockhart had her hands clasped below her chin and was mouthing the prayer just like everyone else, but her cat-like instincts had also, presumably, wanted to take advantage of this rare stillness.
It took a full ten seconds of unabashed staring until a spark of recognition flashed which she immediately blinked away, averting her gaze down to her crossed ankles.
Though difficult to confirm at this distance, he swore he could see the hint of a blush staining her cheekbones. Before reading too much into it, the prayer was over, the students were dismissed and he was swept up in a wave of colleagues eager to make the first period call to arms.
Cloud barely had enough time to jog to the staffroom mail-cubbies and collect his printed schedule only to discover that his first class began immediately. Monday's first period was the newly formed Junior & Senior hybrid course; a single-period lecture for Advanced Industrial Arts prior to the double-period lab time later on in the week. Swearing under his breath, he ignored the teetering pile of pending memos and headed to his workshop tucked away in the far west, back corner of the campus, just past Cid and Shera's dusty labs and Hojo's shiny, newly refurbished one.
Glancing into the room from the glass-walled hallway, seven of his eight registered students were revealed to be sprawled around the central conference table, already proving that they are a tad too comfortable. Denzel Griever, a late addition to Midgar Preparatory since his father had only recently been promoted to a lofty enough position, had his green tie loosened and top three shirt buttons undone as he texted on his PHS. Septina Saber, Scarlet's kid, was painting her nails some shade of poison red. Marlene was reading an actual textbook on non-mako dependent engine designs (there was hope!) while Rupert Shinra and Andrea Rhodea were, he couldn't tell, exchanging jewelry?
Cloud didn't really care how casual they got. As long as everyone kept their heads out of their asses when using the table saw or blowtorch.
"Where's Tuesti?" he asked gruffly upon entering, tossing his satchel onto the desk by the door. Technically, students were supposed to jump to their feet and await acknowledgement when a teacher came into a room, but Cloud nixed that formality within two seconds of it first happening. This was high school, not the army. "Ruvie Tuesti is meant to be in this class too, no? Denzel, if I see that phone again, I'm requisitioning it for parts. Septina, just my humble opinion that the manicures should wait until after you're done donning work gloves, k?"
"I don't think Tuesti is in today," another student, Kyrie, explained while gnawing on an obscenely large wad of gum.
"Yeah, I noticed her parking spot was empty on my way back from assembly," added Wymer who was doodling a complex crossbow. "She must be sick. That or she dropped."
"Mm. Okay then." Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to show his disappointment. Ruvie Tuesti was one of his most intriguing students, if only because she went from thinking a Phillips head was a type of haircut to making a personal project out of resuscitating an antique buggy. It was too bad because he had found a muffler in the junkyard that may keep it from sounding like a bulldozer with a cough. He'd never understand how someone with all the money in the world insisted on driving such a scrap heap, but he could also appreciate the sentimentality of it.
Seven students it was. That meant about five others dropped over the solstice, which was fine with him. The fewer the merrier was his motto.
"So. Advanced Industrial Arts 202," he began, clapping his hands together in an attempt to dredge up some energy. "You all know the basics by now. This semester you are going to design and build a machine. Any machine. I don't care if it pours milk or flies to the moon. It needs to satisfy a unique need, I need to see weekly progress and it needs to function by the last day of class. You can partner up if the system is complex enough. Any questions?"
Silence. This group, thankfully, had gotten somewhat used to his unconventional methods. They were Midgar Preparatory students after all, the most promising young minds on the planet. They just needed a minute to process.
"Score!" Denzel finally broke the quiet with a fist pumped into the air. "I'm going to build myself a new motorbike. A fast one."
Cloud's lip turned at the corner, appreciating the kid's eagerness, but… "I said something unique, Denzel. You won't learn by following existing blue-"
"Patience, Mr. Strife," the young man interrupted, cockily adjusting his tie like the nouveau-riche, somewhat good-looking teenager that he was. Regardless, the kid knew how to work and had very little care for his classmate's opinions. He reminded Cloud of himself at that age. Only more vocal. "What would you say to a bike that runs on used cooking oil that also has hidden, spring-loaded weapon compartments for hunters? Hmm?"
At this, Cloud did unbridle a rare, full-on smile. Even if it was mere pandering, the very concept ignited the spark of creation that tended to live damply in his chest nowadays. "Now that is interesting."
"What motor-mouth here is failing to mention is that I'll be designing the engine and claiming the patent," Marlene added, glaring at Denzel out of the corner of her eye. "He's just the fancy packaging guy."
From across the table, Rupert Shinra let out a scoff, crossing his overstarch sleeves complete with emerald cufflinks over his chest. "Goddess help us, Dyslexic Denz and Wallace-the-Wallflower constructing a fast-moving combustible? Why not just slather yourselves across five meters of highway right now and save us all some time?"
Cloud's smile inverted.
Shinra. What a little shithead.
"You're such a shithead, Shinra," said Marlene, as if extracting the words straight from his brain. It took all of Cloud's composure not to laugh.
"Let's be civil, children," he barked in reprimand. "You've got a busy semester ahead. I want you to start drafting proposals, complete with blueprint drawings compiled in the IA software."
Groans assaulted him from every direction, Wymer even going so far as to bunch up and toss a crumpled piece of paper at his head which ignited a flurry. Sometimes he wished he had pursued the cold educator-sergeant vs. student-cadet relationship that all the other teachers seem to have adopted. Certainly they weren't getting pelted by q-tips and cotton balls supplied from Andrea's makeup case.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Deal with it! Excuse me for making you learn actual up-to-date tools in a course that you selected. I heard it's not too late to swap for macrame?"
"Actually, sir." Septina piped in after finishing her last pinky nail. "Just so you know, on the syllabus this was listed as Industrial Arts class. I honestly figured we'd be making, like, cute goggles with little gears on em'."
Goddess Almighty, he had forgotten about that one.
If Septina Saber were a spice, she'd be corn starch. Though he was 98.9% sure the girl was here because she was still stalking the young Rupert Shinra in the hopes of snagging a fiancé prior to graduation, in the rare chance that she actually wanted to learn, he was duty bound to teach her. Even if she was just a few elective surgeries away from becoming a clone of her mother, the human venus fly trap, Scarlet.
"I mean, building a bicycle? Isn't that a little, ya know...lowbrow?"
"Cripes, Septina." Snarky, overly-defensive Marlene had been summoned yet again. "A functional brain cell. Got one? Maybe rattling around that oversized pooper-scooper you call a purse?"
Septina gasped in exaggerated offense, clutching the ostentatious bag to her chest. "This is an original Bugenhagen, you uncultured bitch!"
"Is that Wutain for 'tacky'?"
"Just because your broke-ass dad can't afford one, doesn't mean-"
"Saber. Wallace. For the love of-" Cloud rubbed at the skin beneath the bridge of his glasses, finding it hard to believe that this was a mere five minutes in. "That's two. Three strikes, you're out on procurement duty. You know the rules."
"Apologies, Mr. Strife." Marlene fell back into her seat, clearly embarrassed though not necessarily sorry. "People are just particularly irritating today."
The girl's gaze shifted to the seat usually occupied by Ruvie Tuesti. The two of them had bonded over skipping a grade and, as far as Cloud knew, had mirrored schedules throughout the last two and a half years.
It was none of his business. Personal problems had no place here. This was a sentiment he knew he'd have to remind himself often in the coming days, as he did his best to dance around the living, breathing, emotional time bomb that was Tifa Lockhart.
The same Tifa who had drawn blood from his shoulder, trying to muffle a scream…
Tifa Lockhart, who wore red underwear on special occasions...
Headmistress Lockhart, who had never written back...
"Be that as it may," Cloud shook his head to repack long buried sentiments. He had a job to do and no one would be of any use if they couldn't stop squabbling. "We're an intimate group this semester and I'd rather spend my time helping you all build cool shit than MCing slam poetry night. I cannot pull off a beret. Agreed?"
"Yes, Mr. Strife," they all chanted in unison, apparently acknowledging that though eccentric, he was still a staff member of Midgar Preparatory and that title, somehow, demanded respect.
"Good. Now let's get started. As I said-" He eyed Marlene specifically at this point, whose face slowly evolved into a grin. "I'm expecting to see some really cool shit from you all. Now get to it."
With that, all seven teenagers pushed off to their computer stations along the inside glass wall to begin proposal drafts. Cloud returned to his desk, put his feet up on the surface and closed his eyes in an attempt to suppress the building pressure in his head, keeping an ear out for the inevitable questions.
Some parts of this job he really, really liked.
Upon returning to the staff room after first period, Cloud retrieved his mailbox memos and plopped down in his usual corner table with the wonky leg that no one else ever bothered with. The mug of coffee in his hand was lukewarm at best and probably a good two to four hours past what anyone would consider 'fresh', but Cloud didn't care. Add enough cream and sugar and even tar could become pleasant and just as invigorating.
As he sipped and tried to ignore the singing of his back teeth, Cloud divided the colored papers into categories.
Four were grey parental complaints from last semester's crop of failures. That at least explained his reduced course load.
Two were yellow pleas to join the bake sale committee. That'll be a cold day in Hell, unless they offered a cash incentive.
One was green from Heidegger that must have been several weeks old, insisting that they hadn't the budget to spare for new materials nor even an up to code eye wash station. Ha!
Most were white reminders of events: Pedological days. High Holidays. Parent-Teacher Meetings. The Winter Ball which he was, apparently, expected to chaperone. Ugh. Fine, as long as he received overtime pay. Etc..
Two at the top of the pile were especially crisp, proving to have been distributed recently. One was of soft violet paper and Cloud knew instinctively who it was from. For a nerve tightening minute, he worried that this was it. The letter his eighteen-year-old, heartbroken self had prayed for.
Alas, upon glancing up at the wall of staff mail cubbies, he realized that everyone had an exact replica of the same folded violet paper. This infused him with enough courage to unfurl the thing at last, chest deflating as it proved to be nothing more than a typed announcement from the new Headmistress' office. The first paragraph was a generic introduction, welcome, proud to be there, etc.., while the second half contained the real meat in the voice of her assistant, Yuffie Kisaragi.
Headmistress Lockhart, following several lengthy discussions with the board and concerned parents, intends to meet with individual educators to discuss and refine their syllabuses to ensure the greatest absorption and productivity from the student body. These will be compiled into a brand new Master Curriculum binder to be updated annually and shared with sister/brother institutions. All faculty will be summoned for one-on-one appointments at the Headmistress' leisure over the coming days.
Cloud winced at the wording, though it was just as likely a reaction from the last sip of coffee which was brown-tinted sugar-sludge by that point.
A one-on-one appointment with Tifa. He could handle that. He, despite what Zack often implied, was a godsdamn professional.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Jarred by the language, so very uncommon in this space, Cloud looked up and noticed Cid Highwind sitting beside his wife, Shera, a few tables to the left. The Physics teacher was shaking his head while Shera had a hand over her mouth, both staring with clear disappointment at a pink paper splayed on the formica surface.
Glancing down at his own stack of memos, Cloud noticed a similarly colored one and plucked it out from the mess, unfolding it with care.
It was a generic urgent memo in format, as crisp and new as Tifa's violet summons. Such announcements came directly from the board and usually included information of a more sensitive nature. True enough, the first line was a reminder of the non-disclosure agreement they had all signed in their contracts before revealing the announcement's core.
Junior from class 3C, Ruvie Tuesti, daughter of Reeve and Rila Tuesti, is taking a leave of absence due to a family emergency and will consider continuing her education the following year. All her course materials and in-progress projects need to be prepared for storage ASAP.
Cloud's forehead grew deeply creased. The words didn't make any sense, refusing to find purchase in his mind like a square peg being shoved into a round hole. Ruvie, she-
"There goes another one knocked up. Psh. Figures," Cid grumbled only to be shushed by his wife.
Cloud nearly choked on the grainy dregs of coffee, hoping to bleach the presumption from his brain. Nevertheless, it bubbled up like insuppressible gas and he found himself, against every impulse, thinking: 'poor girl'.
It wasn't fair.
Ruvie Tuesti would have been over the moon to finally have a headmistress like Tifa Lockhart, and most likely Tifa would have found a kindred spirit in Ruvie's similarly relentless, fast-processing mind. Girls like that, they were destined to take over the world.
As he scratched the not-yet-healed line of stitches behind his ear, hidden by a conveniently placed lock of hair, Cloud was reminded…
Destiny could be quite the asshole.
**Author's Note**: Hello dear friends. Thank you for joining me on a new Cloti venture. As this is my first foray into AU land, I hope I've managed to set a respectable stage, merging elements of the FFVII we know and love with new creatures of my own awkward imagination and experience.
Shout out to Waffle, Marle and BreathingSlowly for helping me workshop and refine this story when it was just a 30+ doc of jumbled notes, names and quotes (including such eloquence as "Cloud glasses = hot!"). You are all amazing people and I am so very grateful to you.
Been a rough week but, on the bright side, I've been writing. A lot. I greatly appreciate any comments, concerns or advice while I test the waters of this genre.
Thank you so, so much.