Free Writing

"Thanks for the help." Naomi nodded. "So, I've been watching the latest season of Pretty Cure, Tropical-Rouge, as well as Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid and My Next Life as a Villainess. I'm not sure which of those I'd recommend. They can each get a bit... what's the word." Naomi paused. "Raunchy. Fair warning." Naomi opened the door and walked inside. "As for My Hero Academia, I'm sure everyone wants to watch that one in particular, but both of the latter series air on the same date each week, so I've decided to put it off for now and catch up as soon as I can."

Nicus went starry-eyed, jerking his head up so fast he had to stop his glasses from sliding off his nose. "I love My Next Life as a Villainess! I admire Catarina so much, don't you? Stuck in a world where she doesn't feel she belongs, which seems to be set against her, but she persists in being kind... it's a rare trait," Nicus gushed. "Sorry, I guess I'm a fanboy. But I haven't seen that many shows, haven't had a lot of time to do so, really... I get very into the ones I do see. Speaking of, have you seen Cowboy Bebop? That show is amazing, I've been telling everyone I know about it!"

Huh. It seemed like he was being serious.

Naomi turns her head to Mr. Nicus. "Oh yeah. I remember specifically being told that Cowboy Bebop had an English dub so good that the studio that made it in Japan preferred it and to check it out so I could see what English voice actors could do. They weren't kidding." Naomi smiles. It's nice to see him open up a bit. After she replies, she quickly looks around the classroom to see if anything is out of place. She has some ability to listen while she is working on other things, so it's best she get started on what she can now. Of course in the 3 years she spent teaching she had learned to look at someone while she was talking to them, so she will turn her head again when she replies next. It's common courtesy, and a basic enough skill for her compared to some other things.

8/17/21, Daytime | Sunny | Barton High School, Castillo's Classroom

Castillo squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed into his classroom, half-expecting something to drop on his head. Usually they were dusty erasers, but on at least one occasion he was met with a liquid other than water that demanded him to find a change of clothes; and another time, what fell on him seemed to be a large paper box of exactly one hundred fuzzy, googly-eyed worms. It was so bizarre (what did it even mean???) that he stood there in stunned, near-motionless silence for at least five minutes: far longer than any of the prior events. It wasted a fair handful of classtime, so he supposed fuzzy worms were now on the list of things he was mentally prepared to be... attacked(?) with.

No such things fell on him this time, of course. If LeFleur had to come in here and dust things off--maybe do a once-over around the corners with the Raid--before Castillo got there, the odds of any traps being left there for him to spring were fairly low.

As the keeper of one of the United States' last surviving chalkboards, Castillo had to admit he was quite proud of his classroom's centerpiece. Whiteboards might be more convenient in some ways, but this was the classic look. The way marker lingered on the board always bothered him, but chalk would always be elegant and safisfying to the end of time. He tried to take good care of the chalkboard, for what it was worth--a prank gone wrong here and there forced him to make some patch jobs around its perimeter, but otherwise... it looked good for its age, all things said.

That, however, was about the most interesting feature his room had to offer. If there was any splash of color on the walls, nine in ten times it was there because the admins told him to put it up: a poster advertising the math scholarship program, another one in the back for the robotics club, another advertising the Associates' program at Meadows University... the lone exception was a four-year-old poster advertising a summer program with NASA in Houston--a gift from his childhood friend. Its bright orange and sky blue gave a smidge of life to the space behind his desk, and would probably be the only element distinguishing the image of him sitting there from some dismal scene at the DMV should a photo of that corner ever be taken... God forbid.

He had no intention of turning his classroom into some kind of pansy kindergarten jewel pastel festival, mind. That said... for the past few weeks the school had been open, he'd been gradually bringing items from home, the dollar store, and whatnot, and laying them down on the homework table to consider for placement around the room. Most of them were for official business: laminated printouts with Tinyurls to extra help resources for each class, expanded versions of the syllabi...

...and then there were... the other odds and ends. As soon as he remembered they existed, he instinctively flinched away--a slight flush rising to his ears as he dared to peek into their plastic bag. At least one person was going to needlessly harrass him about this all year, without a doubt.

It was full of space-themed paper decor--Baby Yoda's charmingly vacant expression prominently featured among the menagerie. He knew precisely jack shit about Star Wars, and if anyone asked him, he could care less about anything that came out after the original trilogy... but, well, you know. A splash of color was a splash of color, and it wasn't like the Dollar Tree was struggling to purge their warehouses of an excess of Kirk and Spock's handsome visages.

(It definitely wasn't like he was cute or anything. God. Everywhere Castillo went, he couldn't seem to escape that fucking thing. Maybe having some up in his classroom would desensitize him to it enough that it'd stop bothering him so damn much.)

At least one Baby Yoda was affixed to the corners of the two corkboards in the room. The vaguely-happier looking Yoda was positioned across from the Mandalorian on the homework board, while a trio of less-enthused ones were arranged above the table for handouts and paperwork meant to stay year-round--looking as if they were staring at the U.S.S Enterprise taking off above them. Sadly? Ambivalently? Like an unfortunate child (heh. wait, no) who didn't do their homework and had to watch the rest of the class rocket past them? Something like that. Some nondescript stars and planets were arranged up there, too.

...God. He hated this already. Part of him wanted to tear it all down and staple himself to the wall. Preferably by his carotid artery.

Deep breaths. "You're not doing this just for yourself, anymore, Jean."

If he was being honest with himself, it was for Libulan. He hated being in places where his eyes had nothing to wander to--and they truly couldn't help but wander--and the last thing Castillo wanted to see in his lifetime was his nephew looking like he wanted to tear his hair out just by being bored out of his mind in his uncle's workplace.

But... it wasn't untrue that he wanted the room to look a little more interesting for the rest of the kids, too. More than that, he... wanted it to look new. Fresh. This wasn't the dark corner of the school they'd been walking into for the past one-to-three years, anymore... or... something... like... that. Ugh.

Would it ever matter? Was there a possibility that the association of his classroom with Baby Yoda and the Enterprise may forever sour the memory of all of these things in the minds of impressionable children? Castillo supposed that wasn't for him to decide, though the persistently pointless thought did slow him considerably. It took him about twice as long to finish clambering around the room with his dollar store party décor than he anticipated... but he got it done.

Just like everything else he'd done for the past four months. Slow and inefficient, and ultimately, the bare minimum acceptable result.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, and then folding it carefully back into his shirt pocket, he limped behind his desk to take a break. This week's lunch was going to be tuna salad sandwiches... and so long as his energy levels continued rolling on this all-time high, it was probably going to be his dinner, too.

He sighed into his sandwich, picking away at it a minute at a time while he surveyed the empty room. Didn't look half bad, he supposed...