"So, to recap; the West Country was first discovered in 1824 when pioneers launched from Rupture Bay and sailed across uncharted ocean. However, they settled upon the isle of Redmont, and did not attempt to extend their reach to the mainland until the late 1960s. By then, many towns comprised of adventurers, treasure hunters and thrillseekers had sprung up around the West Country, and Redmont's plans to expand were faced with heavy resistance both from these townships and the native Sylensyo tribes. Has everybody got that down?"
Setting his chalk down, Cobalt turned to face the class in order to gauge their reaction. A sparse few of his students were writing in their notebooks, but most were simply not paying attention. In particular, Lottie Deyeyr had fallen asleep in class again, while Izzbelle Suyas was idly burning the edges of her books with a flaming finger. With a heavy sigh, the Incubus dropped his History book onto the teacher's desk, drawing their attention.
"Guys, please pay attention. I know it's just the first month back, but trust me, time flies by a lot quicker than some of you may realise. Second year can be a real wake-up call if you don't want to struggle for next year's exams, believe me," he chided, planting his hands on his hips.
A chorus of giggles sounded from the back of the classroom, prompting his frown to deepen. A large group of his students had gathered their seats around one particular desk down the back, and before he could say another word, a yellow hand bedecked in bangles rose from the gathering's centre.
"Yes, Miss Brode?" Cobalt sighed, folding his arms.
Whitney Brode stood out of her seat, wearing her usual smug grin. Though she had done little to antagonise her teacher directly, everything the Nymph did broke some rule of conduct. She constantly customised her uniform into various shameless outfits and wore an excessive amount of jewelry, to the point where she rattled with every movement. Every action she took was followed and applauded by the many followers that orbited her, and because of her lack of interest in education, they followed suit and ignored the Incubus' lessons. Worst of all, because her father was a primary financier for the school, the rest of the staff ignored her breaches of conduct. It was enough to make his blood boil.
"Like, why do we gotta learn all this anyway? This stuff happened ages ago; no point rehashing it all now," Whitney announced, stepping away from her desk.
Hearing someone swear beneath their breath, Cobalt glanced over at Karazelle, who was rolling her eyes so hard that they threatened to roll right back into her skull.
"Daddy says history is written by the victors, anyway, so how to we know all this stuff is true, and wasn't, like, made up?" the Nymph continued, waltzing up to the front of the class in a pair of shoes that certainly didn't adhere to uniform standards.
"Because we have sources, Whitney; both primary and secondary. You would know this if-"
He was cut off by a high-pitched giggle, which was soon accompanied by many more from the back of the class. Blowing a bubbled from the gum she was chewing, Whitney placed a hand on Cobalt's shoulder and leaned in close.
"C'mon sir, lighten up! Gosh, you're so serious about all this stuff!" she laughed, prodding his cheek.
"I- It's my job! Now please, sit down and-!"
"Or what? Look, I said there wasn't any point to this, so maybe I oughta just-!"
"WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BUTTERSKINNED BITCH?!" cried a third voice, drowning out the two demons.
Stunned by the sudden outburst, everybody turned to face Karazelle, whose fists were balled and shaking. Whitney in particular looked almost horrified, but her aghast expression quickly turned to outrage.
"And who are you, Whoretits?! I dunno if you can tell, but I'm having a conversation that's not for the likes of trogs like you!" Whitney spat venomously, folding her arms.
Though Cobalt tried to settled the situation, he was quickly brushed aside as Karazelle got out of her chair and stormed up to the petulant Nymph.
"You may think you're hot shit with all your brass and rhinestones, but waving your daddy's credit card around will only get you so far. So how about you sit down, shut up, and let Mr. Trayer continue the fucking lesson?"
"Ugh, take a step back! Jealousy isn't a good look for you, sweetie."
"Hah! And just what the fuck would I be jealous of?! You're built like a twig, have hair like a haystack, and your voice makes me wanna drive an icepick through my eardrums!"
Laughing uproariously, Whitney slowly stepped backwards, eyes narrowed as she ran her hands across her clothes.
"Come on, admit it. You're scared that I'm gonna snatch Mr. Trayer out from under you!" she accused, pointing a finger at Karazelle.
"Blow it out your ass, Butterskin! Quit projecting and choke already!"
"Aha! I knew it! You act all high-and-mighty, but really you're just gagging for his thick, pulsing co-!"
"ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!"
With a resounding bang, Cobalt slammed his books down onto his desk with all the force he could muster, silencing the two girls quite terrifically. Fuming, he pointed a finger at Karazelle.
"Miss Terna, sit down and mind your tongue while you're in my classroom!" the Incubus yelled.
Whitney burst into a fit of laughter.
"Aw, looks like he-!"
"And you! I have had it up to here with your antics, young lady! Either you behave yourself and cease interrupting, or you get out of my class!"
She recoiled at his words, and for a moment, Whitney's ever-present smile faded. But with a quick adjustment of her skirt, she nodded curtly and turned around.
"Alright then, sir. Have it your way." she sighed, stretching nonchalantly.
With her heels click-clacking off the linoleum floor, the Nymph snatched her bag off the floor and sauntered out of the classroom, shutting the door behind her with a resounding slam. Massaging his temples, Cobalt stepped back around to his desk and slumped into his chair. Karazelle looked as though she wished to say something, but quickly changed her mind and began to scrawl in her notebook.
"Let's... Let's continue. Page thirty-two, let's go."
------
"So I was talking to this geezer about a car, yeah? Had an old sedan round the back of his gaff that I had my eye on. Rusted to shit, but it ran."
"Ooh, ooh! What's a sedan?"
"A kind of car. Anyway, soon as he figured I need it bad, the wanker upped the price."
"That's so mean! What did you do?"
"Hah, what else?! Broke into his yard and gutted it for parts, no charge needed! Prick tried to get me nicked for theft, but by then I already sold the parts to Greasy Dan in the East End, and I was a couple hundred quid richer."
Absolutely enthralled by Quinn's tale of bravery and derring-do, Lottie almost fell off the bench as she laughed and applauded. The Imp simply grinned smugly and took a bite of her sandwich, which appeared to be filled with salt and vinegar crisps.
"And that's why you don't try to shaft a Redtile," she laughed, turning to the man sitting next to her.
Cobalt sat beside his students on the bench, quietly nibbling at a tuna sandwich as he slowly surveyed the courtyard all around him. He got the feeling that the student populace's opinion of him had dropped since he told Whitney off, and when he tried to bring up the issue with another teacher, he was simply told to drop the issue and keep his opinions to himself. Worse still, a horrible pain in his stomach made itself known whenever he thought about how he lost his cool in the classroom.
"What's wrong, Mr. Traya?" asked Lottie, cocking her head as she sipped her third box of chocolate milk.
"Hm? Oh, nothing. I just have a lot on my mind," he replied, setting his lunch aside.
The Golem nodded understandingly and opened her arms wide.
"Do you wanna hug?" she offered with an innocent smile.
Cobalt blanched, remembering the suffocating embrace he weathered back in the infirmary. With a weak laugh, he waved her away.
"U- Um, no thank you, Lottie. I don't think it would be proper."
Quinn snorted.
"I'll take one, then," she joked.
The Imp gave a muffled cry as Lottie grappled her and hugged her tight, swinging Quinn about like a ragdoll. For a moment, Cobalt considered helping her, but a thumbs-up from her told him that she was probably enjoying the hug more than Lottie was.
"You two seem to be getting on well," the Incubus commented, returning his attention to his admittedly bland lunch.
"Yeah, well, how could you not? Just look at her," Quinn replied, reluctantly pulling away from her friend's soft embrace.
Lightly squeezing Lottie's cheeks, the Imp turned her face to Cobalt. The Golem just giggled and gave him a smile, which he found oddly endearing. True enough, she seemed to have that effect on people.
"Anyway, never mind Lottie; what's going on with you? You look right miserable."
With a heavy sigh, he tossed the sandwich back into his lunchbox and shut the lid.
"I won't lie to you. I feel terrible about what happened in History," admitted the Incubus, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.
Quinn - surprisingly - just nodded. Rather than make one of her usual quips, she took a moment to think before replying.
"Well, that's what a teacher does, innit? Gotta be tough when your students start taking the piss. It's discipline, you get me?"
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Her heavily colloquialised advice struck a chord with the Incubus. Of course, he should have realised going into this job that he couldn't kill himself trying to be his students' friend when - at the end of the day - he is of a different station. Infractions of rules were agiven, and it was up to him to be firm with his students when necessary.
But Quinn's words didn't do much to ease the pain in his stomach, so with quiet sigh, Cobalt packed his lunch away and bid the two demons farewell.
"I suppose... In any case, I have Language with the first years next period, so I'm afraid I'll be cutting my break short. I'll see you at the end of the day, you two."
Seen off with a cheer from Lottie, the downcast teacher slung his satchel over his shoulder and made for the Language corridor. In truth, his first year Language class didn't cause him many problems, at least when compared to his core class. He just needed to be alone to clear his head, and the quickest way to the classroom was to cut through the canteen.
It was the largest room in the main school building, and for good reason. Consisting of a ground floor and an elevated gallery, B.I.D.'s canteen was constantly abuzz with activity, whether it was Gluttons gorging their way through the day's specials or Oni picking fights with their underclassmen, or whether it was just groups of friends loudly laughing and tittering to one another. Navigating the dozens of tables and hundreds of chairs was a feat in of itself, but if Cobalt managed to reach the side exit up in the gallery, he could bypass having to use the building's main stairwell, which was usually filled with canoodling couples at this time of day.
Sidestepping a puddle of spilt soup and gingerly picking his way around a cluster of gossiping Succubi, the Incubus had just placed his hand upon the stair banister before a shrill cry pierced the clamourous din of the canteen.
"Hey sir! Over here!"
Strangely, the surrounding noise quietened down to a bearable murmur as everybody turned their gazes towards the source of the voice. Cobalt's heart nearly froze right in his chest as he slowly turned on his heel. There, standing atop a chair at a table attended by the student body's social elite, was none other than Whitney Brode. Smiling, she flipped a lock of blonde hair across her shoulder and hopped onto the floor, strutting over to her teacher as though she was on a catwalk. It appeared she enjoyed having an audience.
"So, I was thinking. About what happened." she stated, stretching nonchalantly.
He made to apologise, before catching himself. No, he wasn't in the wrong here.
"Well, I can hardly abide such behaviour, Miss Brode. You must understand that rules are there for-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I understand, like, totally. But that's not what I'm talking about."
Taking a step back, she snapped her fingers and held out an expectant hand. At once, Cobalt saw half a dozen of her companions break out into a fight over who would be the one to bring her what she wanted. After a few moments, a particularly battered Imp emerged from the fray carrying her schoolbag.
"It's your first couple of days here, so I figured you were having a hard time adjusting and all that. I get it, I do; new place, new people, new everything. So, I just wanted to say, that I'm, like, here for you, sir. And I think you and me should become, like, great friends" Whitney explained, rummaging through her belongings.
Producing a photograph, she slunk up to Cobalt and slipped it into his shirt pocket, before pulling back and winking.
"If you get my meaning," the Nymph giggled, inciting all those around her to join in.
Puzzled, Cobalt took out the picture, only for his heart to lurch a second time.
It was a professionally taken image, that much was obvious from the lighting and angles. The subject of the photograph was none other than Whitney herself, proudly displaying the revealing lingerie she wore as she posed like a pinup model. From the sheen of her skin, she appeared to have been oiled up, and one of her brassiere straps had been slipped off in a none-to-subtle fashion.
"Call it a gift. It's a sneak peek of my Daddy's upcoming winter collection, you know. I got more, if you wanna see them. He said I got the perfect figure for a model," Whitney stated proudly, checking her heavily manicured nails.
The gazes of everybody around him burned the back of Cobalt's neck. His hand quivered as he clutched the photograph, sweat already beading on his brow. He knew what this was. So did everybody watching him. A bribe of sorts, so he would allow Whitney's transgressions to go unchallenged. In return, she was willing to provide him with such... lurid images of herself...?
"This..." choked Cobalt, blinking a few times.
"What's wrong, sir? Oh, don't tell me, actually. I heard I'm pretty breathtaking, after all," Whitney tittered, much to the amusement of everybody around her.
But the Incubus gave her a grim look and shook his head slowly.
"... This is unacceptable."
For the second time that day, Whitney's permanent smile was wiped clean off her face. She stood stock-still, quietly guttering as she thought of something to say. All around them, the students of B.I.D. began to whisper to one another, shocked at the unfolding display.
"Did you really think this through, Miss Brode? Handing me a provocative image - of yourself, no less - and insinuating that I would somehow be okay with it? What do you expect me to do with this, exactly?"
He could already tell that he had put his foot in it, right and proper. But Quinn's words still rang in his head. Teacher's were responsible for discipline as well as education.
"I... um..." choked the Nymph, looking unsure of herself for the first time since they had met.
"Really, I almost don't know what to say. This is demeaning, Whitney; to me and to yourself. That you would be so willing to show me this... you ought to be ashamed."
Shaking his head, the Incubus ripped the photograph into four neat pieces and tossed them at his student's feet.
"But more importantly, you ought to value yourself more than this."
Her eyes watered and her mouth dropped open, but Cobalt did not wait for a reply. The opressive gaze of the students in the canteen weighed down upon him like a tonne weight, but he kept his eyes to the ground and rushed up the stairs. Stepping out through the side door, the Incubus quickly made his way towards the Language corridor.
He could already tell that this was going to come back to bite him.
------
The rest of the day dragged on like a plough through treacle, and Cobalt suffered for every minute of it. Whitney didn't show up for her last few classes, not even for homeroom. Whereas his students were badly behaved before, they now seemed to almost resent him, and when he passed another teacher in the hall, she tutted and shook her head. Standing in the way of Class 2-F's idol had some serious ramifications, it seemed.
Unwilling to face the entire student body when the final bell rung, Cobalt instead deigned to remain in his classroom and catch up on assignment corrections. The teacher's chair lacked the comfort of the couch back in his dorm room, and by the time the sunlight faded from the windows, the Incubus had worked up a serious kink in his back.
"Agh... Could this day get any worse...?" he murmured miserably, wincing as he tried to ease the pain.
Shoving a stack of papers into his satchel, he pulled it on only for the pain to intensify. Perhaps this was some kind of cosmic punishment for stepping out of line...
Locking the classroom door behind him, Cobalt began the slow trek back through the school's silent corridors. The caretakers had since shut off all the lights, and once the Headmistress concluded her various afterschool dealings with her staff, they would lock the whole campus down for the night. Only a few students remained in the building - either volunteers helping with cleaning or latestaying library goers - but they gave the Incubus scornful gazes and wide berths, only further souring his mood.
"Good job, Trayer. Just couldn't keep your head down, could you...?" he muttered to himself, passing by the student restrooms on the way to the main stairwell.
His dour thoughts were swiftly cut off by a sorrowful moan echoing from behind him. Halting in his tracks, his ears pricked up. Again, he heard the sounds of someone sobbing, and as he turned to locate their source, he noticed that the lights in the girl's toilets were still on. Though he was apprehensive of entering the womens' restroom, concern for his students quickly overrode his uneasiness. Pushing the door open, Cobalt peeked inside.
Shredded photographs littered the tile floor of the bathroom, while a pair of scissors lay forgotten by them. A familiar schoolbag spilled its contents all across the far end of the room, slowly drawing Cobalt's eye to the sobbing figure slumped beside the sinks.
The state Whitney was in was a far cry from how Cobalt usually saw her. Her shirt was soaked with tears, and as she looked up into his eyes, he saw that she had cried most of her makeup off. She raised her hands to wipe her reddened eyes.
"Fuck, not like this..." she muttered to herself, her usually-nasal voice sounding flat and congested.
"Whitney? A- Are you okay?" Cobalt asked, slowly laying his satchel aside.
Sniffling, she looked up and gave a pathetic laugh, which quickly became a series of short sobs.
"You were right. I am ashamed. I never even wanted to take those stupid pictures."
Glancing over at the sliced-up photographs, Cobalt swallowed hard and slowly seated himself on the floor, a few feet across from his student.
"Whitney, look, I may have gone too far back there," he sighed, shoulders slumping.
But the sodden Nymph shook her head.
"No, you were right about all of it, and I hate it. I hate it all!"
Getting to her feet, she gripped the edge of the cracked sink tightly and stared deep into the mirror.
"I haven't had a single friend since I was little, you know that? A- And even then, I don't remember anything about them!"
"But you have friends here, Whitney. Ri-"
"No I don't!"
She slammed both fists against the mirror and broke down into a fit of sobs.
"I- I know what they're all after, Mr. C.! Th- They wanna hang out with the 'popular' Whitney! The rich Whitney! The pretty princess Whitney! WELL, WHO THE FUCK EVEN IS SHE?!"
Whitney punched the mirror again, this time cracking it badly. Drawing back, she slumped back onto the floor.
"I don't want any of it... Don't wanna model, don't wanna sew, don't wanna be like... like this...!" the Nymph choked, gesturing to her modified uniform.
Cobalt held his tongue and simply hugged his knees to his chest. Whatever he was expecting to come from his earlier confrontation with Whitney, it certainly wasn't a crisis of identity. But somehow, a part of him understood the distraught Nymph. Everything she did always seemed as though it was practiced and calculated, as though she was afraid of disappointing her ever-present audience of orbiters. But it was as she said; they weren't interested in her as a person...
Taking a deep breath to settle his own frayed nerves, he fixed Whitney with a meaningful gaze.
"So... who do you want to be, then?"
Plucking a broken mirror shard off the floor, she wiped away a few strands of hair and stared at it hard.
"... I want to be the proper me. I want to wear platforms and stripy socks. I want to listen to death metal/country remixes. I want to write poems about love and hate. I- I just... I just want to be anything but this..." she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Cobalt nodded understandingly.
"What's stopping you?"
"Everyone, sir. Mommy wants me to be a seamstress. Daddy wants me to be a model. All my friends want me to be... like this" Whitney replied, gesturing to herself.
Her voice was low and wavering, like she could choke up at any second. And yet, this was the most genuinely Cobalt had ever heard her speak.
Getting to his feet, the Incubus picked his way across the broken glass and sat himself next to his student. She flinched, but did not shy away.
"Well... I don't," he stated simply, after a few moments of silence.
"Wh- What...?"
Reaching for her schoolbag, Cobalt gingerly pulled Whitney's makeup bag out and produced a few cotton pads.
"I know we haven't known each other long, Whitney, but it kills me to see you like this. Nobody should have to pretend to be somebody else, and especially not for the sake of others."
Soaking the cotton in micellar water, he briefly looked into Whitney's watery green eyes, waiting for her go-ahead. She realised his intention and gently nodded. With practiced grace, Cobalt began to clean the streaked makeup from his student's face, taking care not to cause her any discomfort.
"I grew up in a house with five sisters, and they've all had rough times. I find that when you've cried your last, the best thing to do is wash your tears away and look at things from a new perspective. And in your case, I'd say you ought to look yourself in the eyes and decide what's best for you, nobody else."
Bit by bit, Cobalt washed away the mascara and foundation, leaving a small pile of dirty cotton pads in his wake. When the last of it was gone, he pulled back and gingerly lifted a large piece of the broken mirror off the bathroom floor. Her presented it to Whitney with a kindly smile.
"Go on. Tell her who she is."
He didn't know what he was doing. A part of Cobalt's mind criticised his actions harshly, and for a moment he agreed. He wasn't a therapist; Hell, he wasn't even that good of a teacher. And yet here he was, trying to guide a young woman through an identity crisis in his second week of knowing her.
But when Whitney Brode dried her eyes, climbed to her feet and gazed into the mirror she held, he couldn't help but feel that he had done something good for once.
"Whitney... I'm Whitney..." the Nymph breathed, setting the reflective shard down on one of the sinks.
"And who is Whitney?" Cobalt asked, gathering her belongings into her schoolbag and setting it beside her.
A small smile tugged at the corners of the Nymph's mouth as she stared at the intact wall mirror. Drawing a sharp breath, she suddenly dove into her bag and pulled out the pair of scissors. Before the Incubus could stop her, Whitney gathered her long tresses in one hand and brandished the scissors with the other.
"Whoever I want her to be...!"
With a swift, decisive movement, she slashed clean through the strands of blonde hair, letting them drop to the floor. Stowing her scissors away, Whitney looked at her new, shoulder-length hair and smiled brilliantly. Unlike the grin she wore up until the confrontation in the canteen, the joy in her eyes was not forced, and she seemed genuinely happy.
Turning on her heel, the Nymph swiftly wrapped her teacher up in a tight embrace.
"Thank you sir. Really, thank you so much," she sighed, pointed ears twitching with excitement.
Without waiting for his reaction, she clacked her shoes against the tiles and took off, leaving Cobalt alone in the girls' bathroom. He smiled, feeling a warm fuzziness at the thought of having helped one of his students, but it soon faded as he realised just how badly trashed the bathroom was. Swallowing hard, he gingerly tiptoed over to the exit and shut off the light.
"I'll bring this up with the caretakers tomorrow..."