Description: Aranha, young man as he is, ponders his place in life while thinking over his plans for a high school diploma while loitering around Pacific High. Howard Rust lends an ear. Is street fighting a perfectly fine replacement for any other honest lifestyle?
It's after school hours on Pacific High. Those that spend their afternoons out and around Southtown to take in the local culture or brush up on their Japanese in an environment that is forgiving to those who aren't particularly good at it have already vacated the campus. Those taking part in clubs or are still studying after hours, well, they're here. It's such a routine day it is difficult to really even put a fine point on what stands out about it, other than the slight chill in the air.
A chill that one Howard Rust, the Shop teacher, still hasn't bothered to put on an overshirt for. It's been a bad habit of his for years. With class being long over for the day and no real reason for him to hang around in class, he's decided to take up front gate security. To Pacific, people coming in and causing fights are about as common as salt. To Mr. Rust, he'd rather it come to a stop sooner or later. What with the recent attacks by a certain someone who must be holding some kind of grudge against the kids here. (Or at least the Pacific Resistance.) He's a teacher, that sort of thing is a real concern for him when the kids here aren't safe.
It's been quiet on the forefront so far, really, other than the tension that comes with almost expecting some small teenage girl to fly out of nowhere and want to rough him up. He might have to start a running tally of that. But, those that have passed through here so far today are just the small cliques and crowds exchanging gossip and rumors and evening plans.
Rust doesn't find a teenaged girl flying out of nowhere. Actually he finds quite the opposite. He finds a teenaged boy sitting alone watching as students pass back and forth as they head out to their various after school activities.
The capoeirista is motionless which for those who know at least a little about him is considerably odd. If anything, Aranha looks pretty much like a statue made of flesh and denim. He has been having a lot of thoughts about the path he was taking in life and for some reason he wanted to think things out at Pacific. He wasn't even sure why he chose Pacific.
Rust, too, often does a lot of thinking outside of class. He's got a good job, it's been a good one so far (outside of the aforementioned small teenage girls flying out of nowhere that want to rough him up, but to be fair there was Cracker Jack too). Sometimes, a little something feels missing. He damn well knows what it is. But, perhaps he has finally resigned himself to the thought that those days may very well be behind him. (Yeah, right.)
Especially with only slightly more pressing matters on hand. So slight, it's not even really pressing. 'Noticeable' is a better word for it when Howard Rust's eyes come across a vaguely familiar sight. Familiar enough that he remembers who it is, compared to someone who goes here whose name he still cannot recall clearly. (Poor Alexia will continue to be 'Alexis,' 'Alexandra,' or 'Alex' for quite some time to come.)
The teacher scratches the side of his head, where the last stand of his true hair fights its desperate battle against the cold hard truth of baldness before he decides that, yes, this is probably who he thinks it is and that he should probably say something. A joint pop in his knee would give him away if Aranha were paying any attention to the passers-by.
"Mason? Keith Mason, right?" The (hopefully) familiar voice asks, left hand still scratching the side of his own head. It got itchy in the transition from point A to point B.
It wasn't the familiar voice that gave away the fact that Howard Rust was around. No the main give away was the sound of joints popping which has become the shop teacher's signature. The teenager looks up but doesn't turn his head. He doesn't turn his head until his name is actually spoken.
"Yeah. That's m- Oh hello Mr. Rust. I was just doing some thinking." A look of surprise comes across his face but his composure reasserts himself as he looks at the shop teacher again.
He's not even old, but he worked long, hard hours in his young adult days. It's caught up to him on those years he started to slow down from physical activity, but that hasn't seemed to really stop him. The man hasn't fallen upon arthritis medicines to keep him going through the day... yet.
"Haven't seen you around here since the tour." Normally this should infer something that might be plain obvious to pretty much anybody else, but, maybe he didn't get a certain memo.
Bringing the hand away from the side of his face, the teacher leans both his shoulders back in another short cacophony of pops, before he has a single dry cough that he politely directs his face away from Aranha's general direction before patting his chest with a closed fist. "What's wrong?"
What's wrong? That's a very good question. Aranha/Keith has plenty of answers for that question. A lot of those answers he's not willing to share with passing acquaintances. Answers that could be used against him or his younger sister.
After mulling it over he decides to answer the question with a question of his own, "Have you ever wondered why a student who is 19 years old, would register for Junior Year at Pacific High?"
The young African American looks off into the distance towards the Athletics Field and assorted indoor athletics facilities also in that direction.
"Get their high school education to get a better lot in life?" So Mr. Rust responds. Though, when he got out of high school he was already helping out at a local construction firm. He was a very strong young man. The pay wasn't bad at all, either, considering his financial situation at the time.
The man follows the younger man's glance out over towards the field, crossing his arms with a quieter creak from somewhere around his right elbow.
"Perhaps, that's true but it doesn't answer the question of why that particular situation came about." A somewhat distant look appears in his eyes. He makes no move to change the direction he's facing. He takes deep breath.
For awhile there's a silence that for some may become awkward. "I missed out on two years of high school for very personal reasons. Two years of what was left of my childhood." The teenager doesn't exactly elaborate. "The majority of people I've met who go to this school are nice people but my inability to get tours at other schools as well made me ask myself a question. Am I really doing this to better my lot in life or am I doing this to reclaim what was left of my childhood?"
Why it came about? Rust's head turns a bit back over towards Aranha's direction. It's as if he were about to say, 'what's that?' But Aranha already continues to explain.
It is kind of surprising that he says that the kids that go here have been good to him. Not that it's bad news - the school is particularly full of snobby, sheltered rich kids. It probably helps that Aranha is pretty eloquent for who he is. The teacher himself has had some difficulty with those kinds of people in his class, but he's so far persevered. Some of them can actually hammer nails into boards themselves now.
"Childhood, huh." The teacher's neck makes another cracking sound as he gives it a good roll. "What do you think you're missing out on?"
"I didn't get a chance to take part in sports, I didn't have a chance to take a girl to a prom, nor to see people I care about at my graduation. Instead, I spent it traveling through the United States fighting in fight halls, and fighting in pits, sending money home when I could."
After a few moments, Keith Mason shrugs at the adult and then returns his gaze towards the Athletics Field. "But I have been coming to the conclusion that if I'm not doing this to better my lot in life, then reclaiming my youth isn't a good enough reason to do this. Judging by the lack of responses to my calls to tour the other Southtown schools, that they think that this is an attempt to reclaim my youth."
Aranha pauses for a moment. "Then there's the fact that while most of the people I've met were nice, there's the thought that perhaps I don't belong here either."
"Belong?" Funny that the teacher seems to be quiet up until that point. When Aranha talks about what he's missed out on and what he did with his life, there isn't much movement other than occasional head tilts (and accompanying little creaks of those poor joints) back out towards the school crowd by the gates. Maybe he, himself, is overreacting to the prospects of another hostile presence on campus. But one can't really blame him. One can see a frown at the mentioning of pit fights. Aranha does have the scars to show he's had it hard. Harder than the teacher himself did.
But there is a young man here who isn't sure about his own place in life in regards to going to school again. This is the sort of thing that Howard Rust became a teacher for, as he continues after his own one-word response. "I don't come from a rich family either. I started to work right when I was in high school. Hell of a thing to balance." He starts to count the factors on his hands. "Grades, work, sleep... buying food, clothes, some music I liked, hell. Wasn't really popular in school, either." The fourth finger makes a cracking noise.
"You sound pretty street smart. It counts for a-" This is interrupted by coughing, "sorry, counts for a lot. But if you want to make it better in life, I got to tell you. Education's the best way to do it. Bunch of people won't give you a second thought unless you got a piece of paper that shows you know what you're doing."
And rather than let Aranha continue with what he's saying, Howard Rust invokes the most practiced technique of all competent teachers: Lecturing, with the clearing of a throat. "This is an international school. If you want to live out in here, I don't know if there's a better choice if you're not just going to go take a GED back home. Then there's the matter of tuition, but they got grant programs out the wazoo," and boy did he survive on them when he went to college years after getting out of high school.
"We got at least one kid here who's been held back twice, probably going to be your age if he graduates," and that's something he shouldn't even be saying, "and you're never too old to go to school. Me, not far off from 30 when I went to college."
Not to mention he still has to take classes between semesters and school years to keep his license to do so intact.
Aranha is fairly observant when it comes to both people and environments and so when the teacher turns around he picks up on it. There's a concern about something out there and Aranha has narrowed it to two possibilities. Someone attacking and someone possibly listening. Aranha doesn't have enough information to narrow it to one.
Aranha remains quiet as Rust lectures him. The fact that Rust comes from such humble beginnings, "To be honest, I'm thinking going back to Metro City to take my GED. I figure that if not High School than college. I've done research on scholarships." He doesn't mention the fact that fighting as of late has been very kind to him in terms of money.
Howard Rust is from the opposite end of the country of Metro City. If he were from it, he'd probably know a good place to go to for educational grants or what have you. As it is, he can only generalize... but, hopefully it takes a small load off of the younger man's shoulders.
"So long as you get your education. The one thing you don't want to be," a finger is raised for emphasis, "is a thug." Mr. Rust is a strong, fairly stocky man who carries a length of rusted pipe around with him virtually everywhere. Based on appearance alone, he'd have probably made a very good thug if fortune didn't smile on him in landing the job he has today. "Just get your education and look into what you want to do with your life. You still got time to make up your mind about what you want to do yet. You're young."
As if to make further emphasis, he rotates his right shoulder again. The creaks speak lots. He's not even forty yet, but that's probably a good sign of how he certainly isn't /young/. "If you stay in town... I know a few places that you could get a good part time job at if you had to. Sometimes on weekends me and some of the class go out and around the community. Some places always need a good pair of hands."
When Rust makes a comment about being a thug, Aranha twitches slightly. The motion is miniscule so it would be easy for one to completely miss it. If one is looking for tells, however, there it is. His mind isn't currently on actively obscuring his emotions and so things tend to show.
The Dancing Spider has had plenty of experience with being a thug. Pick pocketing, Cat Burglary, Savagely Beating people. It's not one of his crowning achievements but has had some experience in it.
Aranha's body relaxes the moment the subject changes to jobs. As far the part time job is not a bad idea even if the fighting circuit has been kind to him in general. "I'm not currently hurting for money right now but I would appreciate any leads you can give me."
The teenager pulls out a cell phone and glances at the time before looking at the teacher again. "I have to go. Thank you. Oh! And even if I opt not to go Pacific, I think you'll see me around. I'm..." He pauses because the word friend seeming odd to his own ears being so used having associates in lieu of friends. People he was willing to hang out with but never really felt all that close with. "...a friend of one of the students. And there's also the fact that apparently one of the students here wants me to be their TV debut fight." He shrugs and begins walking away stopping to glance over his shoulder at the teacher. "Take it easy Mr. Rust."
The teacher misses the motion entirely. Some students might whisper that their teacher isn't always the sharpest when it comes to little things like detecting lies. But he'll eventually catch up to you if you're slacking off. He nods his head a few times on the subject of leads, those he can provide.
The teacher straightens up a little when the subject moves towards fighting. He knows a good number of the kids here go on TV a lot to fight before nearly the entire world. This is... something the teacher himself hasn't ever gotten to taste first-hand. Rather than let any real envy show, he just continues to nod his head. Maybe because he's also running little fantasies in his head about fighting before a crowd of millions. He'd love that, one day.
"Sure," he finally speaks up, somewhat quietly. "I'll look forward to it, Keith." Might as well, why wouldn't he? Between uneasiness in attackers against the school and other things of the sort in addition to his own wants and desires, all he can do is just politely see Aranha off.
He's not a student here, but he's a young man trying to find a place in his life as he grows into adulthood. That's something Howard Rust here hopes he's able to do without resorting to what, unknowingly, one Keith Mason has already experienced.
He waves an arm to disguise a sigh as he turns back towards the gate. Maybe the teacher, too, feels there was something greatly missing in his younger years that he shouldn't rush to try and substitute for.
Log created on 19:50:12 01/28/2008 by Rust, and last modified on 05:30:16 02/03/2008.