A man in black

John considered the sketch he’d been working on with a critical eye. The figure was roughed out - a chaplain holding its crozius skyward while an assortment of stick-figures fell back from what would be lightning bolts when he got around to turning the pencil outlines into an actual painting. He still hadn’t entirely decided if he wanted to have the figures represent some of the enemies that he’d fought so far; he was pretty sure that merely using them for inspiration wouldn’t cause an incident, but equally, after almost walking into the elderly parishioner the previous day, he was jumpy about a lot of things.

It wasn’t helping that he had his date with Matilda scheduled for later that afternoon. Normally, art class would consist of him spending time trying not to be distracted by the teacher; for once, however, John’s thoughts were not on whatever outfit was being worn by the woman currently helping one of Vanessa’s cronies with the difficult task of using a brush on a canvas rather than her face. His distractedness was clearly noticed; June - Miss Summers insisted on being called by her first name - drifted in his direction as soon as she’d gotten the cheerleader to at least make an attempt at starting to paint.

“An interesting composition, John. A little close to the kind of thing you’d see spray-painted on the side of a van though. What medium were you intending to use for the finished piece?” Her voice was warm as she leaned over his shoulder; John jumped slightly as his thoughts snapped back from a brunette-filled reverie to the woman standing over him.

“Sorry, June, I was thinking about something else. Erm… Acrylics? I want to have some electric effects, and I thought if I mixed in some UV reactive paint, I could make it glow in the dark?” John said, attempting to keep his attention away from just how close June’s chest was to his shoulder.

June nodded to herself as she pulled back. “Definitely acrylic, although the UV idea is really not helping with the side of a van concept. Though… it might make an interesting project to actually do this on metal rather than canvas. You do need to do an experimental piece this term - perhaps you’d like to consider it? You’d need to source your own sheet metal to work with, but I can get you some UV paints without too much difficulty.”

Grateful that he didn’t have to worry about the blood-flow to his brain being suddenly diverted by an excess of breast, John nodded rapidly. “That sounds cool. I’ve practiced using an airbrush at home on miniature painting, so I could do a mix between brushwork and airbrush - sort of a fusion between a traditional painting and a vehicle decal maybe… I wonder if I can get an old car door or something from the junkyard?” John had definitely seen some that could work when he’d been in the Barrier there; while he certainly wasn’t going to tell his teacher about it, if those doors were made of mundane metal, it’d allow him his pick of auto-parts for his art piece without having to dip into his admittedly now not insubstantial cash reserves.

June looked about to say something more in reply, but right as she opened her mouth, the bell rang. With a sigh, she shook her head. “Put together a proposal for me by next week, please, John. And remember, if you ever need to talk, my door is always open.” John nodded and began packing his things away rapidly; his next class was on the other side of campus, which would require him to sprint if he didn’t get a move on.

Biology was thankfully dull; sometimes the lesson could be a raucous affair during dissections or discussions of anatomy, but this week it was merely a long droning talk on the structure of the eye. About the only part of it that was vaguely interesting was when the lecturer had pulled up the wrong slides and the class had been briefly treated to the first part of the staff end of term quiz. Knowing that the various teaching staff would be grappling with such challenges as “what was the name of Charlie Brown’s dog?” somehow made dealing with a pop quiz on different types of eyes a little easier.

Reaching lunch, John breathed a sigh of relief. So far, no sign of Rebecca and the problems that she might pose - nor of Frank and Vanessa and any minor bullying to get in the way of him having an easy Friday. Matilda was working as well - although in the back of the kitchen rather than serving, so he didn’t get to talk to her as he queued up to get his meal. He had been pretty sure she’d winked at him though, albeit from where he was standing at the time, that could just have been her blinking in the heat of the ovens.

There didn’t appear to be any signs of any of the other Order figures when John gave the cafeteria a careful check over either. Wesley beckoned for him to sit with a group of fellow outcasts and nerds; John took the tactician up on the offer, despite the fact that it no doubt meant he’d be eating his lunch while losing at chess. Gamer he might be, but Wesley was clearly the better player currently, and John couldn’t focus on eating and playing at the same time anywhere near enough to beat his opponent.

The only interesting point of note over the entirety of lunch came towards the end. Wesley was crowing over yet another victory, while John pretended not to care by looking off to one side. At first, he wasn’t entirely sure why the woman with the pale blonde hair was familiar - until it struck him. Emily Redcroft, the duelist he’d observed on his first day. She was currently standing in one of the more secluded areas of the cafeteria, deep in conversation with a taller man in a suit partially obscured behind a potted fern.

The pair were clearly trying to not draw any attention without actively hiding; the man turned and left a few moments later, and John snapped his eyes back to Wesley before Emily could look in their direction. The man wasn’t one of the teachers that John recognized, nor one of the support staff - but he’d not been wearing an Ashcroft uniform so had to be staff if he was on campus. Unless…

Making his excuses to Wesley, John rose and walked out of the dining hall by the same door that the man had taken. This side of the building held long corridors with wide windows, and whoever the man was, he hadn’t left that far ahead of John to have been able to disappear out of sight - but there was no sign of him. John swallowed hard. If he wasn’t currently visible, the only logical assumption given what he knew about Emily’s Level and guild association would be that the man had entered a Barrier.

As if to prove John’s theory correct, as he turned to look out the window, the man appeared once more beneath one of the tall trees near the exterior gate. The figure paused, seeming to dust off his suit jacket and straighten it, before turning and walking out of the grounds without looking back.

”Well, that’s just great. To add to the fact that there’s high Level warrior women floating around, there’s also a mysterious man in black wandering around Ashcroft. Exactly what I need to keep my stress levels down…” John took a deep breath to calm his irritation and anxiety at this new development, then turned and hurried to class. By leaving from this side of the canteen, he’d actively made his journey a lot longer - but to duck back inside now would be to potentially tip off Emily that he was on to her mysterious visitor.

Several hours later, John sat munching on a cookie while enjoying Vanessa complaining for once. The main reason for this was that her complaints were not about him - rather, they were about her complete inadequacy as a cook. John was perpetually grateful that he didn’t share many classes with either Vanessa or Frank - but home economics on a Friday was the one time the opposite was true, purely for the humor factor. He’d seen the snobby woman manage to burn cereal before now; Rice Krispie cakes were supposed to be almost impossible to mess up, and yet somehow she’d managed it. Twice.

This time around it was chocolate and ginger cookies that had failed to turn out the same way as those of literally every one of their classmates. Even the people that didn’t really pay attention to the teacher and mostly just tossed flour about had achieved something edible, but Vanessa? Her baking had resulted in something that was a good approximation of a drink coaster after a serious house fire. John carefully set out the third set of cookies he’d baked, just in time for his bully to round on him. “I’m not taking this trash home because the oven I’ve been given to use is broken! Newman, give me yours, you got way more assistance from the teacher than anyone else so even you can’t have fucked them up.”

It wasn’t true of course - the teacher had barely spoken two words to John all lesson, but there was a reason he’d gotten extra mix and prepared not one but three separate batches. Boxing up the ones on display, he handed them over without a word, Vanessa turning and storming out of the room a moment later as the last bell went. The teacher sighed and walked over to John’s desk. “You don’t have to do everything she says, lad, you know that, right? You deserve to have something to take home too.”

John grinned at the kindly expression on the old man’s face. Mr Henrique had apparently been a pastry chef in Paris for most of his life before ‘retiring’ to teach at Ashcroft - and he acted the part of the elderly grandparent with all his students, always fussing to make sure they ate well. “It’s fine, sir,” John said, opening the second oven at his station and pulling out the other two trays of cookies he’d put there to cool. “I took the liberty of thinking ahead.”

Henrique’s face spread into a broad grin. “Good, good! Preparing for an unpleasant customer is always a smart move. Enjoy your weekend then, Mr Newman - I trust I don’t have to remind you at least that I am expecting the menu for your assessment by the end of the month? I will need to get the ingredients in for everyone, and it’s such a pain if people aren’t prompt.”

Assuring Mr Henrique that he would email across his plans by the end of the next week (and making a mental note to actually start on them), John darted down the stairs two at a time. Reaching the ground floor, he dove into the nearest bathroom to make changing clothes seem believable, unequipped his entire uniform bar his jacket and replaced it with the casual jeans and t-shirt he’d decided on for his date, then hurried on out into the late afternoon sunlight.

John sprinted as rapidly as he could manage down the road towards the park. He was beginning to regret suggesting meeting at four - with his last lesson finishing at three thirty, he hadn’t given himself much time to make the trip. Pausing for breath, he ducked into an alley, pulled off his Ashcroft blazer and crammed it into his backpack before fishing the last item of his outfit for the evening (a light jacket) out of his inventory and slipping it on. Returning to the main street, he looked both ways, crossed the road into the park, rounded a corner - and froze. There, standing between a tree and a duckpond stood Matilda, her hair spilling over her shoulders in the afternoon sun.