Description: Vince LaRose is quite fond of creating swords in one Howard Rust's class when both the assignment and free time permits. This tiny little slice of life details the trials and tribulations of forging a masterpiece sculpture in fine pewter when a student's love of his family's craft needs a small guiding hand.
The Shop class of Pacific High. A class dedicated to practical craftsmanship in several trades... and one that often sees it taking place in many different areas around campus. The only time class ever happens inside the designated classroom itself is when there's paperwork to be done about barely relevant subjects to what they're going to do over the next week or two. (Howard Rust, the teacher, has made his dislike for these assignments clear and tends to weigh them very low on one's grade.)
A newly constructed metalworking room from right around the time Howard Rust was hired onto the teaching staff is the current scene of the class today. There aren't very many students present. Some haven't even returned from their winter vacation yet back home. It's understandable, given some international airline difficulties for those select few that don't have easy access to personal transportation here. But, damn, the teacher was hoping that most kids had a new year's resolution to attend his class more.
Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on the class when the majority of the groups didn't do well constructing booths for a local shrine a few months ago. Live and learn, he supposes. Most of the children that attend here are not very good at making things for themselves, which may not be that great a surprise. This area's about as encouraging as it can be, though. It's well-lit, the temperature is very comfortable compared to the chilly air outside, and there aren't a ton of students fumbling around with any step of the process of this week's project: pewter sculptures.
"That's good. That's pretty good. Nice one on you," the teacher says as he pats a rather WASP-y sophomore hailing from New England. "Now that you got your mold, you'll want to put it in the casting machine. Follow the instructions on the little pamphlet I left there, and be careful with that pewter. It's molten and /extremely/ dangerous. I'm not kidding." He's said this exact warning with the exact same words throughout, which he can't stress enough. But, so far it's been a good, routine day - and it shows on the face of the not-yet-forty-but-clearly-aging teacher's face, who is actually dressed the part today with a blue service shirt buttoned up with his name sewn over his left breast pocket, and some working goggles worn up against his forehead.
The students have been given perfect freedom over what their sculpture's appearance. He might find a few surprises soon enough in giving them this sort of freedom.
It should be expected, really. Give people creative freedom, and you'll turn out some really weird things. One is a frog. Another is a giant hand. Possibly the most absurd one so far is something that's supposed to look like Dig'Em, the Sugar Smacks patron deity of home correction.
Fortunately, that one does not belong to the french savant Vince. No, he's going with something simplistic, as far as he's concerned: a rendition of Excalibur, wedged into a carefully bumpy and edgy stone base. At the moment, the young noble is refining the blade of sword, attempting to get it into a perfect angle with blood groove drawing down the center. He's not even begun work on the hilt of the weapon, and knowing him, that's going to be quite the process. Not for a lack of skill or commitment, but for a hangup on detail and perfection. As such, he appears completely affixed on his endeavor...
But it just won't come together as it should. Exhaling a defeated sigh, Vince turns about and raises a hand, hoping to get his teacher's attention.
After complimenting someone that has been showing some improvement from earlier projects, the teacher takes a moment to mark something down on paper at his present desk. Sometimes he drags the one in the classroom out to wherever they're doing today's lessons more because he doesn't want sneaky kids (some are very very sneaky) peeking at things they shouldn't. It's one of the other reasons why the written assignments don't have a great weight on the final grade.
A moment later, he looks up to make sure there isn't any goofing off. That's when he catches the raised hand of Vince. One of the better students in his classes. Considering he seems to spend a lot of spare time here, the teacher is pretty curious as to what he could possibly need help with. Not that he's irritated at the thought, no. "Yes, LaRose? What's the matter?" He heads from his desk over to Vince's working station - anything he's having problems with might warrant a much closer look, a pop in his knee barely heard among the sound of work and a little bit of chatter.
The grampa noises emanating from his teacher go ignored by Vince, who simply folds his arms over his chest. He isn't trying to look indignant, but it bleeds through anyway. He's not terribly pleased with himself for having this much issue on something normally so easy. The moment his teacher arrives, Vince gestures along the edges of the blade.
"It's not straight. It isn't smooth," he explains, french accent bleeding into his smooth, cultured voice slightly. "I've been trying to get it to work, and I'm pretty sure it's -possible-, but..." With another resigned sigh, the gentleman's hands set to his workplace, head slouching. After a second of this, his neck cranes to look to Rust over his shoulder. "I think I'm missing a tool or something. I might be doing it wrong, though. I'm not used to working with... this material." Meaning pewter and pewter-related things.
Truth be told, working with pewter isn't among Howard Rust's strongest suits. Competent, yes - he needed to be for the job, and college really stuck a bunch of different subjects in his head necessary for it (not to mention he still has to go to classes himself time to time to keep his license to teach to begin with).
He did have some fun with a pottery project back in high school, but this is quite a ways different even though the very first step involves clay.
"Okay," Rust starts with a closer look at the sculpture, leaning forward as if there were something written in very small print that he was fascinated enough to read. It's easy for him to get lost in it. Vince might see the imperfections very easily. But so far as this class is concerned, this is definitely one of the more ambitious ones! The detail is pretty good... and hey, for once there's at least a model of a stone attached. Looks like he doesn't get to say his 'this is good, but I'd like for you to try' line on the technicality.
"No, no, you're... you're doing fine," the teacher explains in that gruff, gravelly voice that would draw a pretty strong contrast with the refined tone that Vince holds. "Wouldn't worry too much about smoothness. That's the sort of thing you worry about after casting. This isn't like the building projects we had last month and the one before where you had to get the measurements exact before you built." He leans back, another small crack coming out from his neck. Arthritis, much? He must've worked his joints to the bone when he was younger.
"We've got a couple of different drills you can use for that. We're not going to go that far in today. Now, for getting it straight... eh, hm." He makes a little measurement with his hands, like drawing a tape. He probably doesn't see this very degree of straightness that Vince does, "the thing about fine pewter is that it's really, really easy to bend. If you can't smooth it out, you might be able to set it straight after you get it casted. The cast alone, it's not the last step."
"Oh?," asks an intrigued, bright-eyed Vince. He slips aside to let his teacher have at the artwork how he will, submitting to him his endeavor insofar. "That's a relief. I wanted it to go along a slight tapering angle." He leans over a bit to gesture with a hand, guiding it along where the edge is now to a very gently inwards slope that tapers, like he said, into a straight edge again. "Give it an exotic, otherworldly look. Or fantasy, if you prefer," he explains.
Unfortunately, he's now lost on his blueprints. "Making the blade a little more three-dimensional is something I should take care of now, I think. Shouldn't I? I mean, that doesn't involve bending, and the blade needs to.. to.." Pause. Brow furrow. "..'puff' a bit." Not his usual terminology. "Define the hilt a little more.. wire-bound handguard, sunburst coin pommel, and... hrm."
Right hand sets to chin.
Icy blues affix to the handguard.
"-Something- needs to be done with that. Entirely too bland. Maybe interlocking triangle patterns..." He then frowns a little and looks back to his teach'. "Meisure Rust, how much longer do we have in class? I've lost the hour."
The teacher nods his head a little. Yeah, that would kind of be pretty cool to see. Even if the novelty of 'Vince LaRose's latest sword-shaped thingamabob' might have been lost a few projects ago from both what he's seen in his art class and his own.
But the teacher does have to catch himself in reality, too. He holds up a hand around the time he starts on the pommel. "For now, let's-- oh." He turns his head to the clock behind him. "Half an hour. But, you got your art class coming up next, right? Your teacher there and I both are collaborating on this one. It's... it's okay if you go over."
Suddenly he has to lean over to another station. "HEY! Put on those gloves! That's five points if I don't see 'em on next time I look!! Sorry, where was I... oh, right, right." The teacher holds up his hand again, one finger pointed upward as if to say 'a minute here.'
"For now... listen, what you got there, that's a very good sculpture. I know how you roll, you like it absolutely perfect. Hell, that's a good thing. Good to have a work ethic around here." The people who don't know who they are! Suspecting that there might be some other goofing off while his attention's on Vince's woes, he turns away for the moment. One can't really say much about his own brown eyes. They're eyes, they're brown. Not much of a sparkle in them. But they must be as all-seeing as possible by necessity in a potentially hazardous environment!
Tut. Around the age of thirty, the third and fourth eyes begin to grow in. So plain as they may appear, Vince has no doubt that he's got an extra pair observing the remainder of the class. Never you mind that his head is turning and all.
But the teacher's suddenly loud voice has the affixed Vince hopping in surprise. And in so doing, he ends up making a cut along the handle vertically. The expressive eyes on the fencer go enormous, and.. well.. he looks devastated. His mouth opens to speak, then closes again. Finally, he composes himself and draws in a deep breath.
"Sections. Layered sections." Vince nods to himself, hair a'bounce. But he then looks back to Mr. Rust, quirking a brow curiously. "Oh. Merci! My family's origins are in smithing, you know," he notes proudly. "But if I'll be in the way, I can move on to my next class."
That third and/or fourth eye is probably not on the side of one Howard Rust's forehead. It might be hidden within the top of his scalp, explaining why he went bald so early in life but that wouldn't explain why he'd irritate a theoretical eye to begin with on top with those little strands of hair he attempts to cover his scalp with. But, really, that is enough on that.
Regardless of where any such third or fourth eye may be, metaphorically or otherwise, he missed the jump that accidentally made the vertical cut. Knowing how Vince works to the extent that he does (read: swords swords swords - well, specifically stilettos but SWORDS in general), he'd have probably perceived it as a purposeful gesture for the sake of his craft.
"I think... I think I might've heard that. It shows." He gives a little approving nod. "Anyway. You're doing great. Just great." From his left hand, he points a thumb up. "You're going to want to finish that up soon anyway... tomorrow's class, at the latest. Or, if you got nothing to do this afternoon... hm," he looks towards the doorway thoughtfully, other hand on his chin and another crack that comes from his elbow this time. "You can finish that part up here. There's a bit more to do after casting, and you don't want to run out of time just because you can't get a notch or two right before you make the mold."
Running out of time on a subject of great interest is an unfortunate tragedy among hobbyists who want to show off their expertise at the craft for a top grade, but sometimes a curriculum doesn't leave much breathing space.
"Mm, true," agrees Vince. He furrows his brow at his work, studying it over and taking a moment's break from further sculpting. As much as he's loathe to do it, he might have to speed things along. This could result in a detail or two being off, which would, in his mind, ruin the entire piecee. Bad enough that his vision has gone from a swirl of wire to vertical layers, but... hurrying through? Bah.
One hand lifts to whisk through his hair, ruffling through the bangs before they fall back into place. "I think I'll make use of that extra time. I don't think I have too much else to do today besides training." And with that, he resumes working. "With any luck, I'll have it done tonight." With lots of luck, that is.
Training. The teacher, suddenly, brings a hand down around his toolbelt where a certain something is usually seen. Vince may have seen him around campus with a busted up length of pipe. Today, it's not in his toolbelt. It is up against the wall near his temporary desk, though.
If he weren't hanging around here after normal school hours passed... yeah, maybe he could've gotten some hours in swinging around too. It's been years since he's been able to really get any sort of training regimen going. These kids tend to have nearly all the time in the world in comparison. But, this is his job now. It's the best job he'll ever hold. He exhales a sigh, which quickly turns into a loud cough.
"Sorry," Rust speaks up before one last cough. "Throat gets really dry when I talk at length. Anyway, I'll be here until 1900 hours. Or 7 PM, whichever clock you go by." He has had some interesting conversations with children from military families who insist the time is something-hundred-hours and not number-blank-M. He pats his chest a few times with a closed fist. He really should remember to bring a water bottle or something to class. "You need anything else?"
"Whe-," starts Vince, but he gets his answer just as quickly. Seven PM. "Alright. And no. I think I'm fine now. I'm a little embarrassed, thinking I needed to refine it too early...," he admits. "But it should be fine now." Best be. Even though he had to deviate. Wah. "I'll likely start my training around seven, anyway..."
"Okay." The Pacific Shop teacher, along with any other applicable nicknames you can think of in the instance you just don't want to refer to him simply as 'Howard Rust' or 'Mr. Rust' or any language variants thereof, pats a hand on the station a few times. "You let me know if there's anything--"
CLANG.
The teacher pivots far faster than anybody may be able to perceive him doing, a few cracks up his leg as he sees the first real accident today. Fuchi, a particularly troublesome student that might even rival that of the Pacific Resistance, has managed to spill molten pewter all over the place. "Aw SHIT, FUCHI! God damn it, Fuchi!"
And so, the teacher stomps off towards the corner of the room where the accident has occurred. Blissfully for Vince LaRose, it is at the very opposite corner of where he works. He could continue relatively undisturbed if he doesn't mind the swearing and yelling and a one or two frightened squeals.
"Back away from that! That's hot! That's hot! Jesus CHRIST, how the hell did you even manage to do that? That's new equipment!" Someone's getting a zero and detention, that's for sure.
Vince nods slowly at his teacher, and he recenters his attention on his project. Mr. Rust gives a lesson on how to curse most abrasively, and the fencer just.. remains in his own little world. He even hums softly to himself as he works, eyes doing that weird upwards curvy happy thing. He seems a bit lost at this point. For better or for worse. But at least he's working, right? No one bothering him, nothing for him to do but etch and adjust. Oh yes, this sculpture will be exquisite. He's so sure of it.
The cursing goes on for a while. Before long, the janitor is called in to safely remove the molten hot material from the class. A lot happens in such a short period of time. Fortunately, very fortunately, there are no injuries. Only a scare and Howard Rust's bewilderment as to how a container for molten metal, so carefully fastened and held as to not suddenly tip over in the least, manages to actually do so. Fuchi just seems to have that kind of luck.
"All right. All right... all right." The teacher catches his breath, followed by a few coughs. "If any of you need the extra time, thanks to a certain /somebody/... well, today and tomorrow," ooh, an extension, "I'll be here until 7 PM. Nineteen hundred hours. Whichever one you kids go with, don't correct me this time," don't correct a teacher scorned at the mother of all accidents that could have happened here. "Now, I hope those of you here learned this much more about the importance of careful conduct at your work stations."
He lowers his head and shakes it, a look of frustration and maybe a bit of defeat. The second half of all this comes in using all those tools to smooth out and polish the pewter sculptures - an assignment he embraced and put priority on so that some of these kids would get more comfortable using tools.
But, hey, so long as there's someone like Vince LaRose working as hard as he does, it's all worth it, right? Howard Rust looks forward to seeing the finished product. Or, at least getting the master sculpture molded. One step at a time, one class at a time.
Horribly mundane, but such is school life. Maybe later today he can take the small TV from the teacher's lounge and put on some SNF reruns to reminisce over what could've been. But, is it really too late?
Log created on 17:27:15 01/02/2008 by Rust, and last modified on 20:45:26 01/02/2008.