Friday morning, there was coffee and cookies supplied. Don’t get too used to that, kids. The enthusiasm would probably wear off just a little as the term went on. The desks were arranged in a circle and on each one students would find an
A5 sketchpadAngela would be found sitting on one of the desks, facing them all. "So welcome to Art Therapy." She
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[[ feel free to ping off each other, I’ll be slow until I get out of work ]]
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"I'm Fawn Farrell," she offered, speaking as thought to the desk or her new sketchbook. "I'm going to be a freshman, and the last artistic thing I did, I guess, was playing my harmonica."
Yes, she skipped the random fact about you part, because she believe that anything interesting about her was best kept a secret, and beyond that, there wasn't much interesting at all.
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And wound up with the harmonica and drums because she was terrible at everything else.
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"Do you enjoy it?" It was possible, that it was something she did purely because her family's musical tendencies nudged her into it, after all.
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But of course she wasn't going to be. She just shrugged her shoulders and looked down toward her feet. "It's okay, I guess."
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Angela smiled. "I will take okay over 'hell no'," she decided. "I hope you enjoy the class, sweetie."
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"Ace, I don't get your numbering system at all but my papers say junior, I got expelled from my last school, and the last artistic thing I did was blow up the art room at my last school."
She'd leave them to draw their own conclusions about the connections between items three and four.
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So you know, if the situation came up again? Not in her classroom, please.
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"So noted. But don't worry." Worry, Angela. "I don't use nitro anymore." Not plain nitro.
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She was not going to ask, she was just not going to ask. "Good for you, sweetie. We'll replace explosions with art is that's all right?"
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By which she meant she'd painted a portrait of a finger.
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