Fic Post
Title: Beginnings
Author: jade_glow
Written for: Hex Prompt, word: beginnings
Summary: Three different drabbles about beginning school
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Beginnings
The young Master stood solemnly on the door step of the kitchen, arms hung awkwardly at his side. Conrad, crouched down to slightly below his eye level, glanced up at him. He was standing so still! Surely, for a boy of five, that wasn’t natural. Conrad finished knotting the young Master’s tie with deft precision, then stood and gently ruffled his hair.
“Are you imitating your father?” he asked fondly. The boy’s eyes had widened in panic at the state of his mussed hair, and at Conrad’s audacity, which was not so much displeasing as rare. Even at five, Klaus Heinz did not understand the spontaneity of emotions.
“Is that improper, Herr Hinkel?” he asked, as he straightened his hair. Instead of answering, Conrad surveyed him. Now that his hair had been righted, Klaus looked the perfect example of a German schoolboy. His school shorts hung exactly an inch above his knees, his tie was perfectly knotted (and would remain that way, Conrad knew), his green eyes intelligent and confident, just showing the bare hint of nervousness that was well hidden but there, nevertheless.
A lump grew in Conrad’s throat. It was the young Master’s first day of school.
“No,” he said finally. “Have a good day, young Master.”
**
“-And Robert says that he wants to sit next to me, but I only have two sides and Felix already wants to sit on my left and Richard says that he has a new butterfly to show me so I want him on my right but Robert is so awfully nice! Do you think that he’ll mind sitting at the back? Then we can talk, and he’ll meet Richard and Felix and Richard and Robert start with the same letter so they’ll like each other, don’t you think?”
“I think, Dorian,” said the Earl of Gloria humorously, “that you should learn breathing is necessary in a gentleman.”
Dorian’s mouth snapped shut, and duly, he inhaled, making his chest sink to improbable proportions, his face red. His eyes were electrically blue with excitement, and he was about to speak again when a cool voice came across the Chinese pavilion.
“Dorian, dear, straighten your tie. You wouldn’t want the boys at school to think you’re untidy, would you, darling?”
Dorian lifted his eyes confusedly to his mother. “Father did my tie for me. He says it’s a Windsor knot. It’s supposed to look that way.”
“Oh, well then.” Lady Gloria retreated, her voice frosty. Dorian turned back to his father.
“I brought my scrap book to show all the boys in class,” he said happily, even as he was being pushed into the car. “And my dinosaur. I don’t like my dinosaur as much as my scrapbook because my scrapbook’s got the Venus de Milo in it and Sir Price says it’s aesth- esthe- pretty. But I think the other boys will like my dinosaur better, because Felix says that his brother likes dinosaurs better. He showed me to them once and he had a lot. A lot a lot. More than five.”
As the car rolled away, Dorian progressed from dinosaurs to tulips, and by the time they had gotten to school, the chauffeur promised to show him how to throw a knife when they returned home.
**
His father was nervous. More nervous than Mischa, who had deemed it unworthy to be nervous when he was holding his puffy Siberian bear (stuffed with sawdust, a present for his fourth birthday). Mischa never told anyone this, but sometimes he wanted to be his bear because his father said that everyone was afraid of bears. Mischa wanted everyone to be afraid of him; maybe then they’d listen to him.
Now, Mischa was going to be late for school, because his father wanted to say something to him.
“When you go to school,” he began finally. “There will be a boy who will want to hit you.”
Mischa’s jaded countenance promptly disappeared, and his lower lip began to tremble. “Why? I haven’t done anything.” He knew about beatings. They hurt.
“Now, don’t cry; I raised you better than that. How are you going to take your vodka when you are a man? But as I was saying: this boy will want to hit you. The only way you prevent that is to hit him first.”
Mischa considered carefully. That seemed easy enough, and reasonable. He nodded.
“Good,” his father exhaled.
On the first day of school, Mischa was sent home for being a bully.