"I just think I should have been told," Porlyusica uttered with a complacent sigh and shrug of her thin shoulders as she walked through the doors the next morning with Dreyar close to her shoulder, pupils rushing about them in an early morning buzz brought on by the sugar purchased at the local corner shops. The Headmaster's simpering voice far too close to her ear for anyone's comfort, the man reluctant to leave her side as she was one of the few people he could dare to call an acquaintance.
"Well, he comes highly recommended." Dreyar protested, brows twitching, and large, garish eyes blinking lethargically as they became accustomed to the darkness within the school halls.
Porlyusica snorted, descending the stairs to the history department, "So did Anne of Cleves."
"Who?" Dreyar squawked, and when Porlyusica looked over her shoulder in disgust the man coughed, "He's up to the minute, Porlyusica, more 'now'."
"Now? I thought history was 'then'." Porlyusica sneered as she moved swiftly forward to the old wood-and-glass door that would spell her freedom, not hesitating to leave the man standing abandoned in his corridor, face twitching in suppressed rage as the pupils moved about him, every once in a while one becoming bold enough to shove past him though the Headmaster paid no mind.
Out on the playing fields, where the wooden tables were set up, Gajeel walked towards the table Ren sat at, nodding his head towards the grumpy old man who was powering towards them, "Makarov," He muttered, settling himself at the table with an apple, flicking through the pages they had set under cans of drink.
"'Anne of Cleves'." Dreyar muttered, eyes glazing as he settled his hands on the edge of the table and pushed his beady head between the two pupils, refusing to look at them, fixated on the first years who were screaming beneath the adolescent oak tree, "Remind me."
"Fourth wife of Henry VIII, Sir," Ren replied, looking up at the man whilst swallowing a mouthful of bread and crisps.
"Of course," Dreyar muttered, looking down at the boy and smiled lightly, thankful that they did not ask why he had needed them to tell him.
"She was the one they told him was Miss Dish," Gajeel began, picking a grape from the bunch that sat in Ren's lunchbox, grinning as the Headmaster sighed, "Only when she turned up, she had a face like the wrong end of a camel's turd."
Dreyar was quiet for a moment, allowing his lip to hang loose before he blinked and stood up, "Quite so." Pushing himself away from the table, suit crumpling, the Headmaster rushed away from the old Sixth Form students, the two snickering at his back as they returned to their food.
In the changing room's after lunch, Clive marched through the boys as they disrobed, ready to change into their sports gear in preparation for the extra class meant to galvanize them. Clive's aim, at that point, was Gajeel Redfox, who was sitting quietly by the door flicking through a book, "What's the matter with you, lad?" Clive bellowed, arms tight behind his back as he sneered down his nose at the black-haired pupil.
Gajeel's lips parted, satisfied as he smiled nonchalantly and put his hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, withdrawing a pale piece of folded paper, "Oh, I've got a note, Sir."
"How much for?" Clive laughed, body bending backward as he shook, Gajeel's face falling, "I don't do notes. Get changed."
"Sir!" Gajeel let out a little laugh, eyes closing as he changed how he held the paper, turning it as though pointing at the teacher.
"God doesn't do notes either," Clive said with finality, head tilted back in a haughty way as Rouge began passing behind him, "Did Jesus say, 'can I be excused the Crucifixion?' No."
Rouge stopped behind Clive, turning with a frown on his face, sharing a look with Gajeel before he spoke, "Actually, Sir, I think he did."
Clive was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at Gajeel before raising his voice, "Change!" Surveying the backs of the boys who were changing, Clive preached his verse, "One day it will save your life."
"Nothing saves anyone's life, Sir," Sting replied from where he had his foot on the bench, tying the laces on his beaten trainers, "It just postpones their death."
Clive's face fell as he looked at the seeming 'non-believer', rushing forward to clasp the boy's shoulders in his hands, "Jesus Christ will save your life, lad, if you only let him into your heart!" Clive placed a fist onto Sting's sternum, looking into his eyes as though that was all it would take. From behind him, Elfman stared at the teacher, lifting his leg high as he stretched.
"I'm Jewish, Sir," Sting said, lips twisting as he attempted not to sneer at his teacher too much.
Clive narrowed his eyes and let his hands drop as though touching fire, moving towards the back bench, though "I'm Muslim, Sir," fell from Ren's lips before Clive could try to put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Ren gave a tight smile as he undid the tie around his throat.
Ten minutes later, after much preaching and many groans, Clive stood beside the vaulting horse, whistle between his lips and a sharp sound emitting from it when he blew. Jellal stood at the front, taking his time in running up to the mat before curling his legs under him as he passed over the old wooden block. "Very good." Next, came Elfman whose legs split as he went over the block, a smile on his face as he landed, "Most excellent!" Clive said with pride, the other's cheering Elfman on in the background before the whistle blew again. This time, it was Gajeel, who simply rolled over the top mat and allowed himself to fall to the other side. There was a hiss, and a laugh, from both the teacher and the pupils, Gajeel laying on his side looking up at Clive, "Lad, lad, lad!" Clive shook his head in frustration, "You're letting yourself down, you're letting God down." The others pupils move forward, only Natsu and Sting remaining at the back, perched on wooden benches.
"What's God got to do with it?" Gray said, his hands on his hips as he turned to Clive.
Clive blanched, ears drawing back, "Listen, boy, this isn't your body." The teacher's eyes looking Gray up and down, hand reaching out to pat the other's stomach.
"No?" Gray frowned, eyes narrowing slightly as his arms dropped a fraction.
"No!" Clive smiled, happy to teach something other than the mandatory P.E., "This body is on loan to you from God."
"Fuck me," Gray muttered, sauntering away from the teacher as Rouge laughed.
"I heard that!" Clive shouted, offended at the youth's disregard of the Lord, pointing at the floor the man frowned, "Give me twenty."
"Twenty what?" Gray stopped for a moment, moving back to stand and face Clive, his lips moving up as he sneered into the teacher's face, finding some hilarity in the man's actions, "Hail Mary's?"
"Do it," Gray snorted before kneeling on the floor, stretching out his legs under Clive's watchful eye as someone opened the door to the gymnasium. As Gray began his pushup's, Justine entered the hall with a sauntering walk, his lips curved into a smile on his face, "You're late! Get your kit off." Clive shouted at Justine as the man moved between the ropes.
Justine laughed, continuing to move forward as he looked down, green hair falling over his shoulder, looking back up as he stopped beside Gray, "I'm on the staff." Reaching into his inner pocket, Justine removed a letter from his pocket, handing it to Clive. The pupils about them laughed.
"Well, I've never seen you." Clive muttered, appraising the odd man as he took the note, "What's this?" Unfolding the paper, Clive paid no attention to Rouge leaning over his shoulder, lips parted to read the words.
"Do you need a hand with that, Sir?"Gajeel said kindly, the words spoken sweetly as Clive lowered the paper with a look to his face that suggested he may just have punched the boy.
"Is it joined-up writing?" Ren called, moving to lean on the vaulting horse beside the man, Clive's teeth gritting and face falling at the insults.
"So Miss Greetrees has given me a view of some of your latest essays," Freed spoke to the class five minutes later, the boys freshly changed from their exercise gear and splayed around the three tables in the room, Freed's delicate hands removing eight stacks of paper from his briefcase, "The experience was interesting." Justine smiled reassuringly at the class, face falling as he looked at the first essay, "The essays not." The boys watched as Justine walked around the room, "Dull." Gajeel had his essay thrown at him, "Dull." Jellal next, "Abysmally dull." Then Rouge, then Justine stopped moving holding up the last paper, "A triumph." Natsu smiled at Ren, he the only one not having their essay thrown back them then, "The dullest of the lot," Justine spoke this with narrowed eyes and a small smile, tossing it in Natsu's vague direction.
"I got all the points!" Natsu said with a frown, not bothering to look at the papers.
"I didn't say it was wrong," Freed said, leaning on the desk, "I said it was 'dull'," Justine ran his hand through his hair, walking towards the front of the room, "Its sheer competence was staggering."
"You've got crap handwriting, Sir!" Gajeel laughed, running a pencil over the teacher's comments.
"It's your eyesight that's bad and we all know what that's caused by," Justine said, turning to his desk to remind himself of what he had planned.
"Sir!" Gajeel cried in a faux voice, the other's snickering, "Is that a coded reference to the mythical dangers of self-abuse?"
"Possibly." Justine muttered, turning back to look at Gajeel with a stick a chalk between his fingers, "It might even be a joke!"
"A joke, Sir?" Justine's face fell when he heard Natsu speak, "Oh? Are jokes gonna be a feature, Sir?" Natsu sat forward, pointing to Ren's paper with his pen, "We need to know as it affects our mindset." Natsu ran the end of his pen around his forehead.
"You don't object to our using the expression 'mindset', do you, Sir?" Several faces turned from the back table to Justine, all of them smiling. Ren slid down in his chair, a brow raised as he closed his eyes to the world, "Mr. Hector doesn't care for it."
The room was silent for a moment, before Justine raised a hand to his stomach, lowering himself to perch on his desk, "At the- Er-" Justine looked to a table leg, choosing to ignore the statements made by his new class towards him, refusing to play into their plans, "At the time of the Reformation, there were thought to be 14 foreskins of Christ preserved," The boys in the class released sighing laughs, falling back into their chairs as Justine looked around them, "But it was thought that the Church of St. John Lateran in Rome had the authentic prepuce."
Natsu crossed his arms, and looked at the packet of sweets in Ren's blazer pocket before turning to Justine, "Don't think we're shocked by your mention of the word 'foreskin', Sir."
"No, Sir. Some of us even have them." Jellal spoke, his arm slung around the back of Gray's chair.
"Not Eucliffe, though, Sir," Gray raised his pen and pointed it at Sting, "Cause he's, well- Jewish." Gray said the word with finality, looking to the teacher who had crossed his arms and was frowning with distaste. "It's one of several things he doesn't have," Sting muttered curses at the boy, laughing under his breath at Ren. Gray narrowed his eyes at the window before his voice lowered and he continued hesitantly, "That's not racist, though, Sir."
"Isn't it?" Jellal replied with a voice pitched high though he smiled.
"It's race-related. But not racist." Gray pointed his pen at Justine, the man standing from where he perched on his desk, shoulders squaring off.
Justine's voice was soft as he continued, knowing exactly what it was that he would need to say to get them to pay attention, to dishearten them, "Has anybody here been to Rome or-or Venice?" His voice was hopeful, falsely so as he knew none of them would have been, surveying those that stood in front of him with cold disgust, "Florence? No." The man laughed, cold and happy as he watched the Sixth Formers pretend as though they were intelligent, their arms crossed in clear distaste for him, "Because the other candidates will have been and they will have done courses on what they've seen there, most likely." Justine watched with satisfaction as their faces fell, slight and almost unnoticeable but their smiles ceased to be, and his feet took life as he wandered the room, his feet leading him past Rouge towards Gray, "So they'll know, when they do an essay, like this, on the Church at the time of the Reformation, that," Leaning over Gray, hip brushing Jellal to the side, Justine gripped Gray's failure of a paper between his fingers so hard that the paper was bent, Justine's other hand raising to draw over the words in mock-red ink before it was thrown into Gray's lap as the teacher stood, "Oh, look, some silly nonsense on the foreskins of Christ will come in handy, so that their essays, unlike yours, will not be dull." Justine walked behind Natsu, looking over those that could still see his face, "They're not even bad, they're just boring." Justine's shoulder's fell and his eyes screwed up as he emphasized the word, strolling behind those he had not previously, "You haven't got a hope."
"So then why are we bothering?" Came indignantly from Jellal, his hand uncurling as his brow dipped.
"I don't know. You tell me." Justine stopped behind Sting, hard glare on Jellal, "You want it." Justine raised his hands to his hips and glanced to the other's, "Your parents want it." The word's lilted from his throat, almost a question but not at the same time, "The Headmaster, well, he certainly wants it." Silences reigned for the moments Justine did not speak, his thumb prodding towards the back wall as though it were the Headmaster, "Me? I wouldn't waste the money." Justine touched his tie as he moved towards the front of the classroom, "I'd go to Newcastle and be happy." There was silence for a few more moments, Justine drinking in their disappointed faces, and for a moment, the man almost felt sorry for being the cause of it, "Of course, there is another way."
"Oh! Wow!" Jellal called sarcastically, looking up with a sneer on his lips, trying desperately to hide his disappointment.
"Cheat!" Gajeel threw his hands into the air, paper flying behind him.
"Possibly." Gajeel's arms fell at the teacher's admission, and no one dared to speak when Justine's eyes focused on Natsu, "Dragneel." The name came out softly, as though addressing an injured animal.
Natsu glanced away, wondering what it was that the condescending man wanted, "Sir?"
"Don't take the piss." Justine continued his way behind his desk, the words leaving his throat harshly, "There isn't the time."
"What a wanker." Gajeel cried to Gray as they walked down the stairs, their bodies pushing past the younger years in an attempt to arrive at their next classes with something akin to punctuality.
"They all have to do it, don't they?" Natsu muttered behind him, chest puffing out as he tossed his satchel onto his shoulder and his head nodded forward.
"Do what?" Jellal muttered in reply, body bouncing off the wall.
Natsu turned his head to Jellal, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to continue to speak, "Show you they're still in the game. Foreskins and stuff." Natsu's face twisted, his eyes rolling as the words came sickly sweet as he began to move away, "'Oh, Sir, you devil'."
"Have a heart." Rouge laughed, voice gruff as he followed Natsu to the lockers, "He is only five minutes older than we are." Rouge leant against the end of the row of lockers, allowing Natsu to open his.
The pink-haired man chose to ignore Rouge's comments, appraising himself in his mirror, "What happened with Hector, on the bike?" Bending, Natsu scooped up his back and shoved it into the metal container.
Rouge let out a laugh, turning as Sting approached them, "As per. Except I managed to get my bag down." as though in demonstration, Rouge lifted his back up to his front opening the flap, "I think he thought he'd got me going, but, in fact," Shoving a book with a pale cover into the front pouch, Rouge let out a breathy laugh when Natsu turned to see him pushing out a bump into the leather, "It was my Tudor Economic Documents, Volume Two." Sting remained at the lockers a moment longer after both Natsu and Rouge moved away, the two laughing impishly at the thought of whatever it was they had been discussing.