Description: Gedo likes to talk crap about the other schools. Adira goes to Pacific to check it out, and while she doesn't run into any of the infamous Pacific Resistance, she does meet the shop teacher...
Pacific High loves to play up those little cultural activities of the nation any given chapter resides in. On Friday, White Day looms - a day where the men give women gifts. It isn't a national holiday or even of much import, but the principal seems to be in love with every opportunity to expose the kids to the little celebrations and customs of Japan.
This means those female students that gave something to those boys they have their eyes on are expecting something even nicer! The weather seems to reflect this in the afternoon, a cloudy sky that gives constant promise to sunshine breaking through a somewhat chilly day. It's been warming up in recent weeks. One may still want to elect to wear a sweater or a coat or something.
The shop teacher, Howard Rust, continues to neglect to do this when out of class. Nobody is sure why. The current rumor is that he must have suffered a witch doctor curse that makes him even more bald any time he makes an attempt to bundle up against less than temperate weather.
Minute trivia aside, the teacher's class is over for the day. He has taken it upon himself for completely obscure reasons to drag an entire black metal desk across the concrete walkway to the much beloved athletics field, not appearing to inconvenienced for moving something in so ham-handed a fashion without a dolly or what have you. As could probably be expected of metal against concrete, it is loud and unpleasant and not at all inconspicuous.
But someone's got to move it, it seems. Mr. Rust does not appear too winded for the effort, being roughly half-way through this mysterious task of indeterminate importance and purpose.
There are traditions and there are traditions. White Day is certainly one of those traditions--a modern one, really, after Valentine's Day was introduced to Japan. That's a nationwide tradition, now. But the schools have their local traditions too; Pacific has theirs and, well, Gedo has theirs. One of those Gedo traditions is cutting class. That is probably why Adira is at the Pacific high grounds so soon after Rust's classes end; logically, there's no other way she could be there. And she doesn't look a thing like a Pacific student.
For one thing, she's not wearing a Pacific High uniform; she's wearing a Gedo uniform. A... boy's uniform. Though she's clearly a girl underneath, with the way the jacket's left open, the Gedo crest is clearly evident on her jacket.
Plus there's the way none of the students know her; she's sauntering onto the campus grounds, all bold and confident, hands in her pockets and looking about left and right.
"Huh," she says, sounding almost disappointed. "I was expecting something... cooler."
The monologue of utter disappointment may be interrupted by that screech of metal versus concrete. Over and over and over again! It is not eXtreme. It is not hip. It is very uncool. And loud. And obnoxious. But most notably, uncool. Adira is free to call that as she sees it.
For the teacher, though, this odd activity seems to go beyond such petty teenage opinions, for this heavy metal desk must be pushed to the athletics field. It may be almost the most determined anyone has seen him, shoving it along at small stretches at a time across the walkway. He's sweating enough that putting on something long sleeved might make it uncomfortably hot for him. The intervals do not stretch out any longer than the previous. He's got a good continued pace going.
The students nearby have difficulty with their gossip about White Day expectations and that student from there maybe being from Gedo (don't tell Marisol and friends!). A number of them move away so that they can hear themselves think about what sort of shallow observations they want to state out loud. Even if they shout they would have to compete against that... that /grinding/.
Coincidentally, the paths of teacher and visiting student cross not to long after the initial observation of the relative coolness of this part of Pacific being found lacking. It happens as simply as the teacher starting to push up against the desk backwards, gritting his teeth at every push at, well, pushing it to its final destination. One eye is shut as dust gets inside one of them, eliciting him to rub at it with the opposite hand. The other is left to view a rarity once he lets his arm down.
Is that the fabled Gedo uniform that, according to rumor, is never even worn by Gedo students? (Ignoring the whole 'Gedo student is in Pacific territory' thing for a moment... and a moment's up.) His irritated eye remains shut, casting a much more sour look on his face than what his actual mood is.
"Can I... can I help you?" It's a gruff, gravelly voice in English, not one of irritation, perhaps even approaching polite. Compare this to the Pacific Resistance.
Oh, man. That sound. Wow. It is... it is... it's insane. That grinding, scraping screech of metal on concrete... the squeals and gritty scratching that gets right into your teeth. A sound that could destroy speakers with the feedback--a sound that could burst eardrums. A sound that... that brings Adira back to her childhood. A life in Metro City is filled with these kinds of sounds.
But as nostalgic as the sound is... man, it's still grating. That is one hell of a desk, to be sure, and the man pushing it is clearly strong--most probably wouldn't be able to move it at all. Adira watches with some amount of appreciation for the fact that the guy's got this desk on the move...
... and then he asks if he can help. Adira smirks. "Maybe I should be askin' you that," she says, her voice certainly distinctive; the girl is half-Israeli, half-Japanese, so she has Japanese features but with an olive-tinged skin... and her voice is distinctly American, whether she speaks Japanese, English, or Hebrew and Yiddish.
"Looks like you got some movin' to do." Off in the distance, with the halt of the desk's movement, suddenly a student may be heard. "... yeah, Gedo kid... what the hell's -she- doin' here?"
You should hear just about anything when it comes to construction work. It's a wonder that the teacher has not yet gone deaf. Screech! Scrape! Grind! Any other synonym you can think of for the above! There will be more of it to come yet.
"Uh... yeah," those words fall out of one Howard Rust's mouth. Help pushing it? Hardly, he doesn't look like he's ready to retire yet, though he finds himself addressing the itchy eye with yet another rub. Maybe he should've kept his work goggles on. He gives it another good, hard shove. The desk, that is. Not the eye. But he could probably shove his eye back into his skull so far that it'd pop out at the other end if he were so inclined. (Why would he?)
He might appear strong but he really is not much to look at. Not as tall as some of the more famous brutes of the fighting circuit, not in the best of physical shape if his gut is any indication, and the one eye that's not being bombarded by dust in the air? Plain brown. So very plain and brown that 'plain' may just be superfluous. And the horrible combover. It is best to spare one further description this time. This is to say nothing of the ambience of joint pops, cracks, and other such unpleasant noises easy to associate with aging.
"Moving and finding out where the hell," a break in his voice as he pushes the desk along /again/, "all the damn dollies went!" Shove! Push! One deep breath later, he raises his head again and finally opens that other eye. It is also just plain brown. He's just a stout caucasian man from North America trying to do a job. A job... with its highs and lows and sideways and great dangers.
"You here visiting someone?"
Adira is quite familiar with the sounds of construction. Not that she's ever worked it, just that she's been around a lot. So yeah. She knows. Actually, construction sites have a good rhythm to them sometimes, it's rather interesting to see how much like a dance it is--something espoused in recent 'musicals'... but, anyways.
Adira isn't too much to look at either--neither stunningly beautiful nor hideously ugly, she's just about above-average in looks. ONe might be able to tell, were she not wearing such loose clothing, that she's got a muscly, wiry build--not bulky but strong. Still, she's got the practiced eye of a martial artist; Rust may not look like much but she doubts he's any kind of push over.
"So uh... you the janitor here or somethin'? Don't they got extra folks to help you move this crap around? I mean, really. That looks like some tough shit there, 'less you're like... doin' some weird training."
Oh, right, visiting. "N-naw, I'm not here visitin' anyone. Lotta crap gets talked about Pacific where I go, though. So I figured I'd come see for myself. Sounds like there's a lot of bad blood between Gedo and Pacific... kind of amuses me, really."
CreakSCREEEEECH! If one must compare labor to musical composition, it is an astounding symphony of arthritis, friction, and inconvenience. But is it marketable enough to be downloaded illegally?! (spoilers: no)
"Shop teacher!" This isn't so much shouted as it is an attempt to be heard above the tail end of another honeymoon between metal and concrete. Maybe all this pushing is really beginning to weigh on him, with the little strain in his voice. This culminates into a grand yet humble cough. A very dry cough, which has him patting his chest with a closed fist while the talk comes about bad blood and Pacific vs. Gedo and what have you. Who doesn't know about the big Pacific Resistance vs. Guardian Kings rivalry here in these rival schools?
"Aaah, kids. A bunch of kids will say a lot of crap 'bout... just 'bout anything. Hell if I know what the beef is if you're not talking about, uh... what's-their-name and the Pacific Resistance." Okay, so this man can't reliably recall the name of the Guardian Kings. So maybe he's one of those out of the loop?
"Shop teacher, huh? Man, no offense but teaching must not be your forte if this is what they've got you doin'!" shouts Adira, over the noise. Well, to tell the truth, Adira actually -doesn't- know much about the whole Pacific Resistance vs. Guardian Kings thing going on--she's new here, as the cliche phrase goes. Very new. She walks along besides Rust, hands in her pockets, looking very much like a stereotypical Japanese 'gangster' but for her face and build...
At Rust's declaration of ignorance, Adira just shrugs... then grimaces. "Hey, listen, if we're gonna chat, you mind holdin' up on that screech-symphony you got goin' on? I don't feel like shoutin' every time you gotta lift a muscle, old man!" By now, she's probably garnering -more- attention from the various nameless students--but fortunately, Gedo students are known for their propensity towards violence.
A low groan sounds from the dry bowels of one Howard Rust's throat. Make fun of a man surrounded by people who borrow dollies but then forget to return them, and also a man that could have just loaded it onto his truck and, in a flagrant show of disrespect of some rules concerning motor vehicular transport, drove it all the way down to the field itself. But no, this day drags on and on like the dragging itself with a further reminder of the lows of his line of work these days. Pacific is a rich school with plenty of servants for a number of domestic needs. But there is no man among the staff that can push this as it is like Howard Rust, who did not come from a privileged background.
"Chat up all you want, but," his face tenses at pushing the desk further with every effort, perhaps brought on with that earlier remark, "got to get this," a knee pops, and yes, loud enough to be worth noting in the interim between things said, "down in the field. And if you don't like it, go talk with--"
Another cough. Gah. How does his throat keep ending up so very dry at the end of a school day?
Adira shakes her head. "Man, you're just..." She shakes her head, again, almost disbelieving. "There's gotta be a better way of doin' this, you know?" She carefully times her speech to be in between Rust's bouts of pushing. Her eyes almost hold pity for him--except that she suspects he's doing this to himself, really.
"I mean, y'know... hard work is great and all, but you should work smarter before you work harder..." Yeah, listen to her, practically lecturing. Like she knows! But maybe she does, who can say?
"Get a car, or somethin'. Looks like you're doin' this out of pure cussed stubbornness. Hey, I can appreciate that. But I don't think anyone else'll appreciate what you're doin', that is to say... I don't think they'll care." Pause.
"Except for the noise maybe. I heard this place was all kind of rich spoiled kid territory."
Adults tend to hold potent weapon over most kids. Authority, voice, and presence. Except Adira doesn't go to this school (even if he probably could just up and tell her to get lost /outright/, this is an international school and the staff should be a standard in reaching out to the local community, etcetera etcetera), he's having a coughing fit, and it is ever more difficult for him to draw anybody's attention toward how not to use the power saw.
But maybe it is just an off day.
Coincidentally, the alternating coughing and chest patting routine comes to a halt somewhere at the end of Adira's keen observations. It's as though the very universe has deigned her to have a complete speaking role free of any true interruption as the teacher mentally shrugs, physically shrugs, spiritually shrugs, and with the next push, two drawers seem to shrug by some means. A joint pops at every conceptual level of shrugging.
"Sometimes, sometimes... you just play the hand you're dealt," or go bust, "and that's just, that's just how it is." He really should just start putting bottled water in his toolbelt, given how scratchy his voice is becoming. "And I have someone down there," pointing with one finger, which in this instance happens to be his thumb, "who needs this desk."
This doesn't address the 'appreciate' and 'rich spoiled kids' part. "And sometimes people just take it all for granted. Yeah, yeah. I agree. Doesn't change the fact that, some way, some how, this has to get,"
He all but rams the desk with his shoulder. It slides down the concrete walkway a good... five yards maybe, "has to get /done/."
Adira isn't like most kids. She's -very- respectful, within her own boundaries. She hasn't -really- insulted him yet--she's got a wicked tongue and a sharp, biting wit if she feels like it. Really, she's motivated more out of concern for the man than anything else, as unlikely as that itself may seem. And a certain incensure that comes from seeing a man struggle so without anyone to help. Of course, Adira hasn't offered to put her back to it, either... but she can see that he can -do- it. Quite admirably, certainly more so than Adira herself could, even with those strong legs of hers.
"Well," she says, eyeing the man after that ramming attack that sends the desk sliding, "... I mean, if you're trying to make a point, I just think there's an easier way of doin' it. I mean, other than gettin' all hot and sweaty and dusty..." A slight grin crosses her lips, not entirely friendly.
"Then again, I guess you're doin' a fine job of disturing the peace as it is, so whatever floats your boat." She glances around again. "Sure is a fancier school than Gedo." In all honesty, she probably -should- have come to Pacific--she is, herself, a transplant. But... she prefers Gedo, as loud noisy and dingy as it may be.
And the peace shall continue to be disturbed this way until one Rust's peers and the student body learn why you do not hold out on dollies or forget to return them. It is a coin flip as to whether or not the principal will chide him or pat him on the back if this has an immediate effect in seeing dollies being returned to where they should be, should the principal be of any mind to care about the matters of misplaced dollies and the people who do this. Taking bets now.
As it is, the teacher rubs his shoulder after that last one. He may have won the battle between middle aged man muscle and damned heavy desk, but he'd be doubly damned if he didn't nearly displace something when doing that.
With a loud grunt of what could only be one of the manliest possible declarations of intent to exert to the very last drop of one's available stamina, he just positions himself under the center of the desk with loud protest by that same shoulder and the same knee and hefts the desk by his shoulders.
So maybe his stance about protesting the lack of dollies isn't so solid after all. "Well!! Go look around then if you want!" His voice is pretty hard to make out with the vocal groans in moving with this much weight on his shoulders and back! Oh man he might spend the night in the infirmary after this. "The field, the... the field," and thus he fails to decide on what else there is interesting to see other than the field because he wants to get this thing dropped off at the field /right now/.
A strange little smile is given to Rust as Adira follows almost alongside him, her stride casual, ignoring all the little looks and glares she gets. Yeah, she's Gedo. Yeah, she looks like a punk. Those are all just surface impressions, not to be trusted. Really. Of course, Adira may be a bit short-sighted on this; it almost seems as if she's judging the school at large by what she sees here... a beautiful, opulent outside, and Rust the shop teacher shoving a desk along the concrete on the inside.
"Thanks," she says, drily. "But I think some of the students're gonna take offense and I'd hate to leave anyone in pain just to satisfy my curiosity. Besides... I'm seeing more than enough of the school right now." More than enough. In her opinion, the school probably has plenty of staff to help--even if the teachers don't have anything to do with it, surely there must be SOMEONE to help...
Glancing around, she realizes she's pretty deep inside the school grounds. "Well, I better get goin'. I'll come see you again sometime, mister," she says, casually, as she turns to walk away. Let the stares come, she doesn't care. She's confident, and that comes through in her gaze, her walk, her attitude. None of these cream puffs is gonna try anything.
"No trouuuuuble!" It is difficult to put words into print in a way that conveys the meaning behind the statement as opposed to being just a weirdly stated phrase when it is said while someone is too busy trying to heft a metal desk from point A to point B. He takes what would be visible offense to the idea of leaving any of his students in pain were a part of the desk not turned to face Adira's present point of view.
His eyes are red from stress and strain. His teeth about ready to split in two from how tightly clenched they are. Sweat runs down that abominable combover, brow, and wherever else sweat will runoff. His face is completely red. Really, this is a man spited by small little lazy behaviors that have a bigger effect than one may think at a dismissive glance.
And by the time he gets to that field... well, football practice would say that Howard Rust, their shop teacher, scored a ninety-nine yard touchdown with that desk. And then spent the night at the infirmary for pulled muscles with embarrassing names. But to what purpose was he fulfilling...?
Adults are weird sometimes.
Log created on 01:01:07 03/12/2008 by Adira, and last modified on 14:07:40 03/13/2008.