gurabad | 037 » on and on we carry through the fear

[ The two of them likely aren't far apart in age, but Francel has the features of someone who probably gets carded all too often, and even after he enters the room, he carries himself with an air that seems reminiscent of an anxious rabbit. Zephirin's eyes follow Francel's movements from the door to the chair. He raises his eyebrows, vaguely startled when Francel's brief sneezing fit interrupts them, vaguely amused. ]

Bless you. [ Reaching for a box of tissues placed at one corner of his desk, he offers it to Francel. ] In future, you're welcome to contact me by email, particularly in this sort of weather.

[ But it must be a question that urgently needs an answer, for the young man to brave the rainstorm without a coat or an umbrella, and apparently with a cold. ]

[francel doesn't seem to need a tissue — he might just be cold, or else, he inhaled a little feather-flick of dust. shaking his head, he presses his palms against his thighs, sitting a little too rigidly in his seat.]

That's good to know. I was just afraid you might not check your inbox, or maybe you don't like using the school emails... you know...

[he's run into more than a few of those. nervously, he looks up just enough to meet zephirin's gaze.]

Er... you are in charge of the French tutoring program, right? I was a bit confused because I saw that you were also listed in the sociology department directory...

[ Zephirin puts the box back where it was, returning to his seat and folding his hands on his side of the desk, no longer looming over Francel, who could well find that intimidating. He doesn't have Aymeric's approachable manner, he supposes, especially if he's suspected of being the type to ignore his inbox. ]

I am, yes. I apologize, my details on the website may be outdated.

[ At that, a slight frown crosses his face, if only while he makes a mental note to have that changed. ]

[he does, indeed, lack aymeric's approachable manner. professor de borel might have volunteered some details on why, precisely, he would be listed in the sociology department directory. as zephirin does not, francel finds himself waiting for an explanation that does not come. he stutters slightly when he realizes that he has just contributed to an awkward pause in the conversation.]

R-Right, well... I'm doing quite poorly in one of my French literature courses. I knew it was an advanced course, but the professor seems to expect native-level frequency... he's a bit temperamental, too...

[francel's round face seems to blanch at the mere recollection of professor charibert...]

So... I was hoping I could get assigned to a French tutor, but... I also have an assignment due today, and I really, really need help...

I see...

[ The temperamental professor's identity is clear — Charibert is notorious for his outbursts and his demands, and his teaching approach seems to be to devise assignments that his students like to compare to torture. Zephirin can't help but think that this particular student might have become a target to pick on, which Charibert claims pushes so-called slackers to work harder.

His own face betrays none of these thoughts as he shakes his head. ]

I'm afraid your tutor would be confirmed tomorrow at the earliest. [ He pauses for a moment's contemplation. ] Do you have your assignment on hand?

[it is strangely humorous to watch the way francel's face falls as zephirin confirms what he least wanted to hear — though he perks back up as soon as zephirin asks him what his assignment is.]

Ah... yes, I do. I was trying to make sense of it earlier...

[sheepishly, francel removes a stapled packet from his bag. the assignment appears to be to read a selection of french sonnets, translate them, and then compose one in reply... not impossible, but certainly a difficult undertaking for even the most studious of french students. francel likes the language well enough, of course, but he certainly doesn't spend every waking moment living and breathing in french.]

I made some progress with the first one, but trying to adhere to the syllable count has been... well, sort of murderous.

[ Francel's ears obviously have the usual range of motion of most ears, but somehow they appear to droop in his disappointment, or perhaps it's simply that his face displays his reaction so vividly. A fleeting, entirely inappropriate urge to ruffle his hair grips Zephirin.

Instead, he holds out his hand for the assignment outline, skimming the instructions and noting its exact deadline. It's a considerable task to finish in the hours left today. ]

I can imagine. [ Glancing up, Zephirin hands the sheets back to their owner. ] I would suggest translating as much as you can and returning to gaps and structure later. If you like, I'll read your drafts.

Y-You will?

[surely, surely, francel's ears are not capable of moving — but they seem to point upward as he looks at zephirin with an expression of mixed surprise and delight. he stammers out clarifications.]

Er — do you mean through email? Or... or right now? I do have my notes, and I could type them up now, but if you need to leave for a class, that's alright, I understand...

[ Again Francel inexplicably resembles a rabbit as he brightens, still anxious, but suddenly hopeful. Zephirin answers with another shake of his head and a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. ]

I have nowhere to be but at my desk for the rest of the day. [ His office hours are nearly over, and the plan was to go home, but he has an access card to let them out of the building if need be. ] I'll work here while you type up your notes.

Are you sure...? [at any sign of affirmation from zephirin, francel bows in his seat, so deeply that his nose almost touches his thigh.] Thank you...! Thank you so much! You're the best!

[he makes it sound as though zephirin has rescued him from being cast off the edge of some chasm from which he might never return... which sounds pretty accurate, when one thinks about professor charibert's personality.

francel does not even ask for desk space — he simply pulls his laptop from its case inside his bag and balances it upon his knees as he waits for it to boot up. then he balances the paper-packet upon his laptop. somehow he seems used to this — as if he goes through life trying to take up the smallest possible space.]

[ Whether Francel is content to use himself as his desk or it is ingrained politeness, Zephirin clears some space for Francel's use, pushing his chair and his belongings to one end. The desk is large enough to accommodate two people who don't scatter their papers all over it.

He resumes his marking, to the sound of Francel's fingers moving across the laptop's keys. Now and again, the tip of his pen scratches against a page. ]

[it is no conscious decision, but some part of francel registers that the cleared space is for him; when his laptop grows too hot for his thighs, he places it on the edge of zephirin's table. the boy types quickly, and with accuracy. the mechanical nature of his task seems to consume him — for a good long while, francel keeps his head bent over the packet of papers, fingers moving without rest, without error.

after some ten minutes, however, francel finishes with his notes. a second quick pass through the document lets him fill in some translated lines he didn't get to. after this, he figures, it's best if he lets professor valhourdin take a look.]

...Um... Professor? I finished... do you mind taking a look?

[francel's translations are not bad, especially considering that he did not have to resort to using a dictionary. they don't fit the syllable requirements, but that's a whole other ordeal.]

[ Francel's voice breaks the silence that sets in when his typing stops. Placing his pen down, Zephirin leaves his seat to stand beside the boy's chair and lean over for a look at his screen, the heel of his hand against the edge of the desk. Where others might comment here and there as they go, he reads through Francel's translations and the corresponding sonnet without a single word until he reaches the end of the final line. ]

Fluency doesn't appear to be an issue — even unpolished, your translations capture the original's meaning for the most part. Following a strict rhyme and meter scheme should become easier with practice.

[ Unfortunately, with an encroaching deadline, there is no time for practice. ]

Perhaps if you change a few of your word choices?

[ Careful not to touch the monitor, Zephirin points out a number of lines for Francel to reexamine. ]

[zephirin keeps francel waiting in suspense, but the undergraduate doesn't seem to mind. he lans back in his seat, secretly thankful for the sensation of zephirin's body leaning close to his. when the sound of zephirin's voice breaks the spell of soothing silence, francel opens his eyes, nodding eagerly. he takes zephirin's advice, fingers dancing along the keys.]

Right, right... and the sonnet that I wrote? Was it strange or unnatural at all?

[ For a fraction of a second, giving Francel a sidelong glance, Zephirin wonders whether the boy is on the verge of falling asleep, but Francel responds without delay. They choose to move at the same time; Zephirin straightens up as Francel leans forward to type, resulting in a brush of elbows. Then Zephirin turns to face Francel's chair, and Francel has his section of the desk back to himself. ]

On the whole, it reads well. I would take another look at this line, however... And this one.

[ He leans close again, indicating the parts of the document to revisit, although they could be attempts at wordplay. ]

Unless your aim is a kind of whiplash for the reader.

I... guess it was a poor attempt at a joke...

[upon closer inspection, it really does seem that francel's ears are capable of drooping just a tiny bit... or are they? he shakes off his bout of gloominess soon enough (but they really did look like they were drooping!), making corrections as soon as he can think of alternative words.]

Alright... I feel better about this now. I guess I'll turn it in?

[ Zephirin's eyes rest on Francel's ears perhaps another fraction of a second too long; some idly curious part of him waits to confirm what he saw. In the end he takes his seat again, offering Francel his encouragement in the form of a faintly amused smile. ]

Considering the task set the class, it isn't unimpressive that you've made the deadline and produced work that should satisfy even Professor de Leusignac.

[ Zephirin sets a sheet of notepad paper and a pen down near Francel. ]

When you've submitted your assignment, please write down your contact details and availability here. If you had a specific problem area to address, that would be helpful to include.

Ah — yes, I will!

[hastily composing an email to the widely-feared professor de leusignac, francel fires his work off with a soft and relieved sigh. after he closes his laptop screen, he takes up the pen, writing in his name and contact information in a surprisingly dignified script. the neatness of his handwriting is all the more funny when he fills in his "problem area" as "i'm just bad at things"...]

Anything else?

[ Now Zephirin's eyes linger on that line, and his eyebrows arch. Nevertheless, ascertaining which "things" Francel needs to concentrate on can be left for his first session with his tutor. ]

No, that will be fine. [ Once the piece of paper is in his hand, Zephirin tucks it inside a holder beside his keyboard. ] You'll hear from me by tomorrow evening.

[ Outside, the rain has picked up again, and Zephirin casts the window a look before scrutinizing Francel's drying hair and clothing, and contemplating the listed gaps in the boy's schedule. ]

Do you live off-campus, Francel?

Hm?

[francel glances up, unable to discern zephirin's thoughts.]

I do... though my house isn't too far. I was going to run over to the bus stops just now, actually.

[ For Zephirin, student accommodation eliminated a daily commute, and now staff parking eliminates waiting for a bus. He begins to gather up his belongings, papers slipped into a plastic sleeve. ]

Allow me to offer you a ride home. I imagine it's likely that your bus is delayed.

[ And he imagines that commuters will be vying for shelter from the weather at the bus stop, and for seats and room to stand in the aisle when they pile onto the bus. He imagines that by the time Francel arrives home, he would be soaked through. ]

H-Huh?! Ah, no, that — I'll be fine...

[really, francel is protesting just to be polite. zephirin is absolutely right that the buses are probably delayed in all this torrential rain — with all the fuss and the crowds, francel will be lucky to make it home before nightfall. a ride sounds amazing. it's incredibly tempting.

on the other hand, there are risks — like what if zephirin is a bad driver? (he doesn't look like one.) should he really just get into a stranger's car? (but he's a professor.) and what if things get weird? (francel wouldn't say no...)]

...Y-You don't mind?

I assume you don't get carsick?

[ The question isn't serious, despite its delivery.

It's no surprise that Francel declines at first — it's probable that someone who avoids taking up desk space would balk at the thought of any detour made on his account. It's possible that accepting a ride from a stranger makes him uncomfortable for other reasons, too, not without cause. He has no way of knowing for certain that he can trust Zephirin.

Unfazed, Zephirin closes his briefcase and shuts down his computer. He slips his coat back on. ]

Take precautions and let someone know that you're with me, if you wish.

[for a moment, an oddly vacant surprise seems to steal over francel's features. he looks down at his phone, his thumb reflexively pressing the screen awake — but instead of checking his messages, he turns it off again.]

...No... It wouldn't matter, anyway.

[after a beat, francel casts off his coldness; he looks up at zephirin, smiling. the boy slides his laptop and his phone back into his bag.]

If you don't mind, I'll take the ride home. I'll have to think of some way to pay you back, though. I mean, for gas if nothing else...

[ Francel's remark is somewhat jarring, strangely flat, but his personal circumstances are his own business, and Zephirin's gaze only flicks up from his coat's buttons to study the boy's face. The next moment, he picks up his umbrella, hooking it over one arm, and readies his keys and his access card. ]

There is no need. Of course, if you feel obliged, I can't stop you.

[ He pockets the piece of paper Francel filled out earlier, crosses the room, and holds the door open, waiting. ]

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