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

As long as it doens't interfere with your grading or your faculty meetings...

[francel seems to need a steeling of nerves, so he takes up a jam cookie and stuffs it whole into his face; his cheeks bulge with its weight as he crunches and chews until at last the normal appearance of his face is restored.]

Ah... well, okay. We went over some, um... very esoteric material today, and some of the verb constructions are a bit...

[the young man pulls out his neatly organized folder and takes out a worksheet that was given in class, handing it over so that zephirin can explain certain things he's marked with tiny question marks and notes in an equally tiny print.]

[ Miraculously, Francel manages to chew his way through his cookie and breathe at the same time, and Zephirin doesn't face needing to make use of his first aid training. His own jam cookie disappears in a few tidy bites before he dusts off his fingers, leaving the remaining cookies for Francel and focusing on the worksheet.

It takes some effort to read the boy's writing — in several places, the letters are almost too small to tell apart without a magnifying glass. Before long, Zephirin pauses to rub the bridge of his nose. ]

...Professor de Leusignac will most likely use this material in a future assignment.

[ As they work through Francel's questions, Emmanellain's barrage of messages resumes, undeterred by their recipient's silence. ]

[every student is bound to have a frustrating habit or two; francel's may be his meek, tidy handwriting, for he is otherwise quick on the uptake — but he simply cannot flourish with a professor like charibert de leusignac, who responds to every asked question with a snarl and a threat and an insult to one's intelligence. he nods along to zephirin's explanations, stuffing his cheeks with cookies all the while. despite the fact that he ostensibly brought the cookies for zephirin's sake, he's eaten half of them by the time they have finished going over the worksheet.

francel ignores the buzzing of his phone in his bag. at some point, he reaches backward to switch it silent entirely.]

...'ankyu. [he swallows, and clears his throat.] I mean... thank you. I understand a little better now.

[ Snacking incessantly while Zephirin explains the material would test the man's patience, but Francel is clearly paying close attention, and knows not to give in to his phone's relentless alerts. What seems to be unconscious comfort eating to cope with the stress of any reminder of Professor de Leusignac isn't the healthiest way to calm his nerves, however — Zephirin's brows twitch upward as his gaze lands on the half-emptied storage container. ]

You have the potential to do well. [ Francel isn't "just bad at things." His problem, without a doubt, is that his fear of his professor is indeed crippling. ] I'll have a word with Professor de Leusignac...

[ Zephirin glances at Francel's bag, where the boy's silenced phone must be full of texts that may or may not be urgent. ]

Go ahead and answer that.

Oh, no, I — it's really not important — y-you said you were going to speak to Professor de Leusignac?

[francel's voice rises steadily in pitch as he speaks. there is a crumb at the corner of his lips; his tongue peeks out and licks it up before he speaks again, anxious, almost begging.]

You don't have to do that! I-I mean, I'd really prefer it if you didn't...

Only to compare our teaching methods, and without mentioning your name.

[ Anything else would paint a bigger target on Francel.

Zephirin's gaze returns to the boy's face, slides to the stray crumb, follows the movement of Francel's tongue. His hand relaxes after coming close to pointing that crumb out to Francel. Instead, he places Francel's worksheet back down on the table in front of its owner. ]

Of course, I won't go against your wishes.

Ah... okay...

[truly, francel wears his heart on his sleeve. the student's expressions are vivid and unfettered, like those of a boy much younger; he seems, somehow, emotionally defenseless. his hand twitches toward another cookie, but stays itself in time.]

If it's not about me, that's fine. I was just worried...

So am I.

[ Zephirin reaches for a third cookie, fruit jam once more, transferring it to his palm. ]

Frankly, I believe his approach holds his students back.

[ It's unfortunate that no one has proof that Charibert goes so far as to arbitrarily fail students, culling the herd for their own good, in his view. Those who survive his classes pride themselves on making it through.

Francel, already traumatized, still has the rest of the semester to endure. ]

Y... You do?

[unconsciously, francel presses his hands together, as if in hopeful prayer.]

...He was the only one teaching this course this semester, and everyone said that if I could make it through his class, I'd be really, really good at French. I'd gotten straight As before then, so I thought it would be okay, but... I don't know. I thought... maybe I just wasn't good enough.

They're not mistaken. Passing the course is possible, and a student determined to succeed will take measures to guard against Professor de Leusignac's style of teaching — which you've done.

[ With a certain amount of resilience, Francel will emerge "really, really good at French" at the end of what must seem a long, dark tunnel of harsh penalties and no praise. In that sense, Charibert's methods do motivate some students to work harder — others, easily discouraged, drop the course altogether, and Charibert mercilessly purges them from the class list.

Francel's soft features are an open book that tells the same story as his half-eaten box of cookies. ]

...I wouldn't take his remarks to heart.

Really...?

[francel's soft features turn even softer, as he averts his eyes, looking somewhat shy.]

I-It's just... I could shrug it off if I didn't respect him, but Professor de Leusignac is smart and scary, so... somehow it hurts more... [oh!] Ah, but you're really smart too, Zephirin...

But not scary.

[ Zephirin may be smart, and Francel may have been nervous to approach him at first, but even he can't be intimidating now, nibbling on cookies from Francel's box. The jam cookie waits cupped in his hand. ]

Nevertheless, I hope you'll consider taking what I've said on board instead.

...Mm, you're not scary.

[the warm, bright smile that spreads across francel's face — sunshine through the clouds — would be disarming even without the context of his complimenting zephirin. in context, it is a smile to melt one's heart, even on the coldest of winter days.]

I feel really relaxed when I talk to you.

[ Had Zephirin opted for another chocolate chip cookie, the chocolate chips would soon melt onto his palm. He hasn't forgotten the cookie he holds, but it remains whole as his eyes linger on the trusting smile that blossoms on Francel's lips and lights up the boy's entire expression, dispelling all traces of gloom and dread.

Perhaps it's an accomplishment that a boy like Francel finds Zephirin's company relaxing. ]

Enough to believe me over Professor de Leusignac?

[ A pleased Zephirin has something in common with a cat curled up in a sunny spot, serenely licking its paws. ]

[if zephirin is a sun-basking cat licking his paws, francel is a small, stubby-legged kitten come to curl up beside him, seeking attention and company. the boy's smile lingers as he stares at the near-imperceptible curl to zephirin's lips.]

Maybe not always! But when he yells at me, I'll try to keep you in mind.

And if we keep meeting after class, I guess you'll know if I've been crying...

[ Though Francel's smile doesn't falter, Zephirin's mouth straightens into a line as his brow furrows then. Francel is not the first student to struggle in a class that Charibert teaches, nor will he be the last, not while the man keeps his job, but he is the first student to admit it so candidly to Zephirin. ]

...What has he said to you?

[ Beneath a veneer of calm, the question injects a strange edge into Zephirin's tone. ]

Hm? Er... nothing in particular...

[the kitten stops in its tracks, startled; francel's smile fades slowly as he realizes that zephirin is concerned about him, but there isn't anything to be concerned about, in francel's view. he tries to wave zephirin's worries away with his hands.]

Um, it's not — I don't cry all the time in his class or anything! It was just this one time... I think he was actually joking. You know, it's his sense of humor. I answered something incorrectly and he said — what was it? Ah — "This is why no one will ever love you."

[francel forces a laugh, but it sounds just the tiniest bit hollow.]

So, um, it was totally a joke. But I'd actually just gotten dumped the day before, so I took it really seriously and I started crying... it was really embarrassing. Professor de Leusignac was actually kind of nice about it, though? I mean, he said, "Are you really going to ugly-cry in my classroom?" and he sent me outside, but he gave me a pack of tissues, so...

[ If Francel is a kitten, Zephirin the cat has come to include him in his territory, driven by a sense of responsibility for a student taken under his wing. Charibert could claim that his insults are tough love, but there is a middle ground that neither coddles students nor crushes their spirit.

Zephirin's frown is slower to fade than Francel's smile. ]

He may have been joking, but to my knowledge, a good joke should be funny.

Some people laughed...

[retreating from the problem, francel finally succumbs to switching his phone screen on for a moment, just to look at the notifications — but of course every message is a nagging one from emmanellain. he switches it off again.]

...Um... by the way, this might bad timing, but... my friend from last time, Emmanellain...

He seems rather serious about throwing a party, and he asked me to invite you. Would you be interested at all? It wouldn't be anything too rowdy or too formal. Just a... a get-together with our families and some people we know from school.

[ Some people only cause Zephirin's frown to darken, and so the change of subject to Emmanellain's plans seems poorly received. By now, the jam cookie is unlikely to make it to Zephirin's mouth; Zephirin curls his fingers around it, folding his arms atop the table.

Discussing Charibert's class any further is of no help, however. It's obvious that Francel wants the topic closed. ]

A party?

[ Zephirin's tone retains its clipped edge until, at last, it smooths out into something too calm, even flat. ]

Your parents would be there?

Oh! No, not our parents. Just us kids. So our brothers and sisters and friends like that. They’re all working, though. I mean, only Emm and I are still in college.

[unsure of how to approach zephirin’s seemingly sour mood, francel says too much, mile-a-minute. in his haste to turn the conversation towards something less dark, he leaves his elbows up on the table.]

And you’re not that much older than me, are you, Zephirin?

[ Francel's explanation allows Zephirin to gauge Emmanellain's expectations. A party with Francel's parents present would lean towards a more formal affair, perhaps uncomfortably so — unsurprisingly, Emmanellain's "get-together" leaves them out. A party whose attendees are predominantly Emmanellain's friends would probably devolve into a rowdy gathering, but his decision to invite a stranger adds a degree of formality to an otherwise casual event.

If Zephirin accepts, what he is to Francel might become one question to field. ]

That depends. [ A guess would put Francel somewhere around his late teens to early twenties. ] I would assume that I'm closer in age to some of your siblings than your parents.

[francel was paying close attention to zephirin’s explanations in spite of his aggressive snacking, but his interest in this matter of zephirin’s age obviously outstrips any interest he had in advanced verb conjugations. he does not move, not exactly, but he watches zephirin so intently that it may well feel as though he is leaning over the desk.]

My oldest brother is thirty years old, and I am currently twenty-two. [suddenly he wonders if zephirin thinks that far too young.] I’ll be twenty-three in March.

[ Francel's gazing at Zephirin like a curious kitten focused on a dangling toy bespeaks his undisguised interest in an answer that confirms his assumption. Consistently, the boy seems younger than he is, but he is older than Zephirin estimated, a mere seven-year gap between them.

Zephirin leans back in his chair slightly, taking his arms away from the table. ]

Is your brother "much older", to you?

Ah... Stephanivien?

[francel volunteers his oldest brother's name, though zephirin has no need to hear it — like a kitten whose wiggling body belies his intent to strike.]

Not especially... He's so ridiculous that most of the time I feel as though I'm the elder brother. And thirty isn't very old at all, really. Though we do like to tease him about it, now and then.

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