An Average Man
The drone was endless and it seemed at times to waiver, raising in pitch and then lowering but it was drone none the less. How in the name of whatever God one believed in they expected children to be interested in this drivel was beyond Wash but then, he never did understand some people. The teacher went on further into policy, how the Alliance was like a gentle and loving parent and thats when it happened, thats when Wash snapped.
Limber legs thrust him atop his desk and in a blinding moment of insanity his voice lifted above the dull monotone of it all and shouted, "No one expects the Inquisition!" His left hand over his heart with his right held high above the autumnal locks that adorned his head.
You could have heard a pin drop, could smell the exhaled breath of every student inside the room and only then did Wash realize what he had done; quickly scrambling back into his chair he began to pray that his moment of crazed bravery would not get him locked up.
The Instructor had stopped speaking, physically pushed her jaw closed and took a rather loud, slow breath before casting those dead, gunship metal greys in the direction of the crimson haired rebel. "Mister Washburn, if you insist upon further outbursts, I will indeed be sending you to the proper authorities." There was a nasal sound to her voice that almost made him laugh; almost. She waited nearly three minutes before she spoke again, that arched eyebrow of hers pinning him rather effectively to his seat, "May we continue now, or have you some other point of interest for us?"
There was a wild almost purposeful chaos to his hairstyling, suggesting he had either not brushed it or he had done it intentionally, either way he lifted his head to stare back at the Instructor, the tip of his tongue hesitant as it dragged over the parched surface of his lips, "No, there is nothing else Ma'am." He even smiled to her, that boyish charm of his oozing in all the wrong directions; she was unimpressed.
~@~
They had viewed the tape and now sat semi circle at a vast pristine white table, staring at one another. "Should we take action? If so what sort?" The voice as lifeless as the vessel it had come from.
Silence prevailed until the silver haired man at the head of the table rose, long strides carrying him toward the monitors where his fingertips trailed over the innocence that was Hoban Washburn, "No action needs to be taken. If you look over his performance records you will see there is nothing to worry over. Average intelligence, average scores....he is little more then....average." The hollow sound of the old mans' voice echoed inside the barren chamber, forcing its way into the ear of all present, "This young man is no more then a class clown, incapable of anything other then living an average life."
TBC...