[FIC] Golden Comedy
In World Academy, there was no reason for hazing or bullying: once you survived freshman year, you automatically bonded with the upperclassmen through trauma.
This was mostly due to the works of one Roma Antiqua, professor of the Official Languages of the United Nations course. O.L.U.N. was a class required for all incoming freshmen, and without doubt the most horrifying experience most students would ever have in their lives. Whether it was engaging combat with computer-stimulated robots to test the theories behind The Art of War, or copying the entire novel of War and Peace by hand in its Russian original to “truly understand it by heart,” Professor Antiqua would always do so with a cheerful smile on his face.
By the end of the Spanish unit, summer was a merely a month away, and students walked into the O.L.U.N. classroom deciding that there was absolutely nothing worse Antiqua could make them do after they had pranced through the campus in lace and tights, declaring windmills to be giants in seventeenth century Spanish. Alfred himself had declared proudly, “We’re safe for English. He can’t spring anything on us with Jane Austen or Mark Twain. I mean, what can he do with romance novels and children’s books?”
It was a stupid statement, of course. At that point, however, his classmates already had their brains muddled by Don Quixote, and they did not argue.
Then, lo and behold, Professor Antiqua walked in the classroom, the smile his students had learned to fear already present, and declared that their final exam would be Romeo and Juliet.
-.-
“What I don’t understand,” said Alfred, “is why it must be Romeo and Juliet when most of the students in this school are . . . you know . . .”
“Guys?” supplied Matthew.
It was true; World Academy had recently become coed, hence the gender imbalance in the student population.
“Exactly! N-not that there’s anything wrong with a healthy, loving homosexual relationship!” he said quickly, knowing how his step-brother viewed this issue. “Even I personally-I mean, not personally in that way of course, but . . . It’s just, you know-”
“Alfred,” Matthew sighed, “I know you don’t want to play Juliet, but our group has already decided. You were the one who wanted to determine parts by straws anyway.”
The two freshmen were sitting on Matthew’s bed. Earlier, Alfred had run away, panic-stricken, holding the slip of paper with the word Juliet on it. Matthew was the first one to find him, and after much coaxing and consoling, brought Alfred back to his dorm.
“B-b-but!” he was quick to protest. “But why? I don’t want to be-be dressed up as a woman! And why couldn’t I have gotten Mercutio! Or even Tybalt! They got to swordfight! All I do is . . . sit around and sigh. Not to mention . . .” His eyes went wide and a shudder went through his body. “Not to mention . . . there will be a scene where I have to make out with . . . with . . . with FRANCIS!”
Their group composed of Yao Wang, Ivan Braginski, and Francis Bonnefoy.
Oh, and Arthur Kirkland, of course. And there was Arthur Kirkland.
Alfred grabbed his brother by the shoulders, a hint of madness gleaming in his eyes. “This is what Antiqua wants, Matthew! Can’t you see? He wants us pitted against each other, so we won’t be able to defend ourselves when the time comes! THAT was his plan! This is anarchy, I’m telling you! We’re doomed, I say! WE-ARE-ALL-DOOOOMED!!!”
“Get a hold of yourself!” Matthew said, trying to pry Alfred’s hands away. “I know you don’t want to do this, but don’t you think you’re going a little too fa-”
There was a knock on the door.
Alfred turned into a stone statue. Then, faster than the human eye could follow, he unfroze and scrambled under his brother’s bed.
“Y-yes?” he heard Matthew call.
“Oh, it was just you.” It was Arthur’s voice. Alfred gave a silent scream of terror. “I thought I heard-oh, well. Did you manage to find that idiot?”
Matthew stuck his head under the bed. Seeing him, Alfred shook his head furiously.
“Uh-no. I’m sorry. I didn’t find him.”
“I see. May I come in?”
“No!” he all but shouted. “I-I mean-”
“Ah, is this a bad time?”
“Uh-”
“Sorry to bother you. Just, uh . . . If you see him, tell him that I . . . I switched my parts with Francis. I convinced him. And tell him that-that he won’t be molested by that French bastard. And tell him that I didn’t do it for him! If you give the principal role to Francis, there is no way Antiqua will pass us . . . Yeah.”
Alfred heard these words, but his brains refused to process them into thoughts.
Arthur switched parts with . . . Francis? Then that means-
“Yeah, I . . . guess?”
“Anyway! I-I need to go now. Yao and Ivan had already found a place on the campus where we can film. If you find him, make sure that bloody git memorizes his lines, all right?”
“All right.” Alfred could swear that Matthew was smiling. “I’ll tell him.”