you want a revelation (you'd do anything)

[paisleythief]

Manchester Academy of Excellence is a prison ground at times.

Going on three years here and Eames is still making eyes at the old librarian to get out of overdue book fines. Doesn't matter that he knows the book is lost somewhere in his dorm room and he just can't be arsed to find it-- this school charges enough money to fund a small third world

Comments

[littlspecificty]

At fifteen years old, it is Arthur's first official year at the school with "excellence" touted in its very name. He was also technically on his own. His father, entrenched in his ties with the British government, was required to travel out of country and away from his son more than he would have liked - and with his mother having died two years earlier - leaving Arthur virtually alone. He was living on campus in the dorms (his father having pulled some strings with his connections to ensure Arthur wouldn't have to share one with a roommate) and tended to by some of the staff that knew his father all in the hopes that he wouldn't be left alone in the house they both still lived in (despite the woman they both loved and cared about no longer there with them

[paisleythief]

As a general rule, Eames doesn't get knocked off guard. He's got a stone on most of the boys on campus and it's been that way as long as he can remember. Most of it isn't even fat, he's made sure of that with the hours he's dedicated to the gym. He may not be winning any awards, but he's proud of the way people look at him when he passes, like they know what he's got under his shirts and would like to find out personally.

However, Eames wasn't expecting to have another person walk right into him, and he quickly finds his equilibrium, reaching out to steady the other person in the process. With a hand on the thick wool of the other's coat, Eames can feel the warmth of the other through the heavy material. He's got a thin stature, is what Eames' grip is telling him, but Eames' head is a little preoccupied with the sharp features of the boy's face. Warm brown eyes, wide with something that looks like oh shit but will probably be infinitely more sophisticated because this one looks like he was bred for better things than such plebeian

[littlspecificty]

Arthur had never been very big physically; he had been a small baby and child that grew into a thin waif of a teen. Some boys had jeered and catcalled during what gym classes he had to take after he hit puberty and his body took on a more feminine shape despite the sharp angles and lines of a body not yet fully grown into

[paisleythief]

"No harm done." Eames releases the other boy, body language louder than any spoken demand could be

YOU SAID I COULD BE HERE....

[modrnmethuselah]

Elijah Graves had been teaching at the Manchester Academy for Excellence for several years now. He'd started out as a history teacher for all the years of students (one of two such teachers of course) and more recently had picked up the elective of wood shop, since he was fond of working with his hands. It required some skill, anyway.

It also meant that the theatre director sometimes contracted his class for props, and this time he was returning with a list of things the director had asked about, for more specificity. He was dressed in slacks and a blue oxford, a waistcoat in place, as well as a thick brown pea coat.

It meant he was nearly run into by one of his students, Eames. Who was probably supposed to be in a class right now, but Elijah had never really felt that it was his business to worry about if it wasn't his classes Eames was skipping.

"Mr. Eames," he said with no small amount of mirth as he narrowly avoided being run into.

YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME MON CHER

[paisleythief]

Barely able to sidestep the almost-collision, Eames' hands ready to catch anything that may tumble out of the history teacher's arms. He's got a quick hand and sticky fingers-- though the staff shouldn't catch wind of that, if Eames can at all help it.

"Sorry about that Mister Graves," Eames apologizes, unable to keep himself from noticing the shadow of stubble across his former professor's jaw. Well, possibly former; if the rumors are to be believed.

Students aren't supposed to be privy to the inner workings of the staff, but everyone knows that deciding who instructs third year history is always a scheduling nightmare. On the one hand, the students love Mr. Graves for his ability to teach history like he's been there, like he's seen the farthest reaches of the earth with his own two eyes and sunk his fingers into the wet earth just for the feel of his knuckles getting dirty. On the other hand, third year is when baccalaureate exams start, and every exam with a 5 or above gets the professor an extra thirty pounds per head toward

<33333

[modrnmethuselah]

Too bad for Eames, the only thing in Elijah's hands are a cup of coffee and a stack of papers, both of which he has a strong hold on.

"Quite all right. Is there a fire somewhere I don't know about, or are you just in a hurry?"

Despite what would be a condescending tone from any other teacher, Elijah manages to make it sound relaxed and teasing.

Elijah had fought and was fighting hard for the ability to continue offering his history class. He didn't give an arse one way or another about the money; he knew that teaching the students the history without putting more pressure on them or trying to teach what the baccalaureate's might ask for would serve them best. It helped his case that his scores were generally some of the best. They didn't really 'improve' over time, but he kept a good eighty percent of his students in each round, while other teachers would sometimes get higher but sometimes lower scores.

[paisleythief]

The steam that rises off of Mister Graves' coffee curls and condenses pointedly in the chilly morning air, catching Eames' eye. As if he needed reminding of what a bad idea it had been to forgo the sweater vest under his blazer. Shaking off the chill that tries to seep through his blazer, Eames gives the professor a smile that would be perfectly symmetrical were it not for his wonky teeth. "If there is, that's where I'm heading."

Eames has been privy to nearly every flavor of condescension from what seems, at times, almost every member of the staff at MAE. His resounding smarm is equal parts grateful that Mister Graves has a sense of humor about him, and respectful-- Mister Graves is still a professor, even if he manages to be one of the more well-liked ones on campus.