Crusade

Sometime in the past, but not far...

"Good MORNING!" Mr. Makara bounded into the classroom, all gangly legs, un-tucked shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos, braces and tie in an obnoxious purple. He slid to a halt, and sat down on the edge of his desk, beaming at his class. "And how are all you little miracles today?" He spread his arms, grinning widely. "Ready to be getting your learning on up in here?"

Mr. Strider gave his class a nod once everyone was seated.
"'Sup. You guys know the drill. We'll be looking at Free Composition after the break."
The work was already written up on the board behind him. He didn't need to tell his class what to do; they knew. Nor did he feel the need to schlep the traditional, bullshit questioning about their holidays. One, he didn't really care, and two, it was their own damn business. He adjusted his shades. Thank god the summer was fading- harsh sunlight played merry hell with his skin and eyes.
He gazed at his laptop screen. The staff chat was blinking at him- Technically, it wasn't supposed to exist; Captor set it up, and Mr. Strider doubted very much that the new Headmaster knew about it. The old Head didn't either- and just as well. Mr. Noir was a vicious bastard, in Mr. Striders opinion, and the school was all the better for his leaving.
He sighed, and clicked on the little box that informed him Miss Serket required his attention.

"Hey Dave! Me and Eridan are gonna 8e heading to Wrath and Angels tonight. Fancy it? :::;)"

He groaned inwardly. An evening with the psychopathic bitch of a Maths teacher and the biggest drama queen to ever claim to have a penis? No thanks.

"naw, got things to be attending. thanks for the offer though vris. ask kan- she's seems all kindsa uptight recently."

He thought briefly about the Textiles teacher. Sure, she was hot; with hips and breasts like those one could overlook the formality of voice and (not to put too fine a point on it) sharpness of jaw. But all the staff knew she had a thing for girls, and a big thing for the head of Psychology in particular. No matter her sexual orientation, Kanaya Maryam was a rock- a point of sanity in the turbid rapids that went by the name of Secondary and 6th Form education. But she'd been a little off this morning, deep green eyes focused elsewhere while Ampora whined to her, and if Dave Strider knew anything, it was how to judge disaster before it happened.
He was so preoccupied in his musings that he didn't even know about the tidal wave of madness approaching his classroom before it hit.

"Right! Today, we're gonna be all up and learning about the Crusades and their influence on modern perceptions of Christianity." Gamzee pulled his bag up onto his lap. "But you miracle-children all know me, and ya'll know I know that'd be mothe- mighty boring, just me talking at you and sh- stuff. "So, we're gonna be all up in our practical learning zone. Now," he pulled out a bottle of orange faygo from his tattered purple rucksack, "line up, an' get ready to get your mo-mighty frickin' sanctified on."
The class giggled to each other as they formed a line in front of their beaming RE teacher. Everyone knew that Mr. Makara's practical lessons tended to end in the class standing around, grinning, while another teacher shouted at him for making too much noise or, on one memorable occasion, getting purple paint all over the windows of the Science block.
Gamzee crossed his legs under him on his desk, and motioned the first student forward.
"Right. My name is Pope Urban the Second, and I am hereby blessing you all as Crusaders against the Muslim tribes." He unscrewed the lid of the faygo and dipped a long finger into the liquid, before reaching out and drawing a cross on the student's forehead. He grinned lazily and raised a hand as the student went to wipe the soda from her face. "No nonononoooo Claire! That is the Lords water, that is! Can't be washing away a mark left by the most Mirthful of Messiahs!" He winked. The girl blushed, lowered her hand, and went to stand behind Gamzee's desk as the next student came forth to be anointed.

The chat icon blinked again.

"Awwww that's sad! ::::( I'll miss yoooooooou!"

Dave ironically smiled, but internally; any outward emotion would break his air of cool.

"Allrighty! It's 1095. The Byzantine Emperor Alexis the First has sent ambassadors to ask for some help at the Council of Piacenza earlier this year. I, all up in my Popely self, have called all you blessed Christians to get your war on against the Turks. First order of business, we're gonna be setting up the first of our four miracle Crusader States on the Syrian coast!"

There was the sound of quiet concentration in the music room. Some students were using the keyboards with headphones, some just writing up their personal compositions. Dave did not presume to interfere – Music, he knew, was a personal business.

"Are we all ready to get our Righteous War on, my miracle-children?"
The class stood in grinning ranks before the professor, who was sitting on his desk, one leg hanging and the other perched on the edge, knee near his ear. The rumpled suit trousers were hitched up on said leg, revealing purple converses and the top of some clown print socks. The class chorused something along the theme of "yes sir", and Gamzee sprung up. He opened the cubbord at the back of the room that usually held mouldering textbooks. Morning sunlight glinted off lines of cans.
"Everyone grab one and follow me! We do the Lords work!"

Ms. Lalonde was just leaving the cafeteria with her morning granola bar and cup of chai tea when the screaming started. It was close, and modulated with giggling and running feet. She turned a corner and was nearly swept over in the sudden stampede. Regaining her composure, she watched Mr. Makara, followed by his students like the tail of a comet, tear down the corridor, out of the double doors and towards the music block. Each student was holding what appeared to be an aerosol can. The Psychology teacher raised a thin blond brow.
"Fascinating."

"Blasphemous Infidel! Do you surrender unto my lord, the most Mirthful of Messiahs?" Dave raised his head, looking at the RE teacher from behind his shades.
"Makara, what the hell do you think you're doing in my classroom?" he said evenly. Gamzee grinned inanely and pulled two cans of silly string from his trouser pockets.
"Claiming the East in the name of our Lord!" The music students had all ceased their composition, looking at the near-deranged figure of the Religious Studies teacher, who was grinning like a loon. Whatever a loon was, he was certainly the dictionary definition on how one grinned.
"Makara, I swear to god, if you spray paint clown faces on the piano again I will neuter you."
"Your barbed tongue is all up and having no effect on me, ungodly scum! I will take this classroom in the name of God! This is the First Crusade, motherfucker!"
And as Gamzee shouted the last profanity, his students poured in from the door behind him, silly string flying. He stood in the middle of the anarchy, laughing like a madman, until Mr. Strider rugby tackled him to the floor, and the two brawling men were covered in a spiders web of colourful foam strings.