Chapter Text
The only good thing about their weekly briefings was the coffee. As Astarion nursed his flask of the horrifyingly strong brew, he watched the hall slowly fill with his colleagues.
Having worked at Blackstaff Academy for five years, he knew their names and departments but, since he was relegated to a very small one (just his good self) and since he was deeply disillusioned with regard to the ideas of school spirit and family values, he was friendly with very few.
He raised his flask and nodded as the enormous head of sports walked in. She flashed him a grin and beelined for the corner of the hall in which he was hiding from the higher-ups, disgustingly chipper for the hour.
“Mornin’, soldier! How’s the world of textiles?”
“How the fuck are you so energetic every week? It’s a Monday and it’s eight - you haven’t even got a coffee with you? Are you human? Or are you fuelled by some sort of furnace instead?”
“Oh, I feel great - went for a run this morning and everything!”
“I hate you.”
“Nah, you don’t, you just need to go to sleep before it gets light for once.”
“Thanks, that’s incredibly helpful - you’ve actually just cured my insomnia.”
“You’re welcome!”
“Shut up,” shaking his head, Astarion buried his smirk in his coffee. Karlach had been the one who suggested he apply when the school had advertised for a textiles teacher. He hadn’t been aware at the time that it would involve setting up an entirely new department from scratch and without a shred of support, with all new schemes of work and resources, but he was still grateful to her. It had been the change of scenery and fresh start that he’d sorely needed.
At the front of the hall, on the squat stage that often hosted child actors prancing about in costumes which Astarion had hand-sewn, Raphael Cania was chatting with the other higher-ups and preparing to inform the rest of them about whatever nonsense initiative they’d concocted this term to justify the eye-waveringly expensive fees that they charged parents each year for the pleasure of sending their brats to the academy.
“What’s your bet, darling? Vegetable-only lunches? Mandatory break-time meditation? Perhaps I turn my classes into fast-fashion sweatshops?”
“Maybe they’ll do another cost-cutting initiative where you can only use one sheet of loo roll per visit?”
“Or they want us all to do karaoke at the end of term again? For morale.” Astarion shuddered at the thought.
“God, that was fucking awful - who knew Aylin could sing like an angel though?”
“Good morning!” Raphael called through the chatter and all heads slowly turned to face him. He was a slimy man and Astarion couldn’t stand him - he had to put on a civil front, of course. The man was the deputy head, and may as well have been running the show since the actual head, Enver, was usually too busy with his own DIY projects to show up. So, no matter Astarion’s personal feelings, he had to pretend to get on with him for the sake of his job, his department, and his students.
Raphael rattled through the sports results, notable events, and pupil achievements of the last week, then the times and dates to look out for in the upcoming one - as usual, not a single mention of any of the many things Astarion had done to make sure that the latest drama performance was as eye-catching and successful as it had been or the efforts he was undergoing at present to finish the banners that had been demanded for a PR stunt at open morning. Then the man paused.
“As you know, we are always looking for ways to innovate and improve the service that we offer to our pupils. Accordingly, we have decided that for the rest of this term, each department - no matter how big or small - will be paired with another to work on ways to integrate our curriculum and ensure that all pupils are aware of the wider impact of their subjects and how they interact in the world. After careful consideration, each department has been paired with one of a similar or complementary discipline for the task. It will be up to the heads of those departments to determine the nature of their work together and fill in the proposal form that will be emailed out after this briefing.”
Astarion rolled his eyes - the old interdisciplinary project. Complete waste of everyone’s time - at least it had been the last time they’d done it and paired him, for reasons that he couldn’t quite fathom, with IT.
Actually, he could fathom it quite well. At the time, IT had been thought of just as random and irrelevant a subject as his own. Since then, however, the school seemed to have grasped the importance of computer literacy and diverted a ridiculous amount of money to make sure that Wulbren had all the money for all the shiny toys he wanted, while Astarion was still making all his sixth-form students share one sewing machine - one which wasn’t even the school’s. It was Astarion’s own that he’d brought in as a temporary solution when he first arrived.
Raphael rattled off the list of pairings - most of it sounded quite reasonable but the longer he talked the more Astarion realised that any sensible departments for him to work with had been shipped off elsewhere.
Art was with Chemistry, Drama with Music, DT with Physics, and even Wulbren had been thrown in with Maths.
One by one, each department was allocated and heads were turning to find and smile at their partner subject leads.
By the time Raphael said textiles, Astarion wasn’t sure that there were actually any subjects left.
“…and Astarion in textiles will be working with Gale.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding in the groan that wanted to rip itself from his throat.
Anyone but fucking Gale.
When he opened his eyes, Astarion saw the idiot turning in his chair and grinning at him.
Gale was the head of Classics - yet another one-man band of a department but one which had once boasted an illustrious history, reputation of excellence, and considerable standing in the school. It had, however, been slowly pushed further and further back until it ended up being just one man in a dingy classroom - a dingy classroom that happened to be directly opposite Astarion’s own dingy classroom, giving him a near-constant insight into the weirdness and eccentricity of Dr Gale Dekarios.
The number of times that Astarion had looked out his window to see Gale practising military manoeuvres or pretending to carry out ritualistic sacrifices with his classes could not be counted and that wasn’t to mention the frequent and really fucking irritating chanting that seemed to never stop. Astarion could hear it through the walls whenever the man was teaching Latin - hell, after his first term at Blackstaff he’d been pretty sure that he was starting to hear the man declare “Details, details, details!” in his dreams.
But despite how much Astarion scowled and blanked him, Gale insisted on smiling and waving and trying to strike up a conversation with him in the hallways.
This was going to be tortuous.
When the hall started to empty and Astarion saw Gale moving through the crowd towards him, Astarion ducked behind Karlach - she was an excellent candidate for hiding behind, partly on account of her having once been an actual soldier who had a gun and everything and partly due to her standing a foot above everyone else in most rooms - and then he darted for the door and marched across the quad to his classroom.
It could have been quite nice if it had been given a lick of paint or some double glazing at any point in the last fifty years. It had huge windows that overlooked the lawn and flower bushes - both of which had been given far more attention than the room itself. When he stepped inside and began to set up for the day, he risked a glance outside as Gale hurried across the quad. He looked uncharacteristically disappointed.
Good. It would serve him well to experience something to challenge all that baseless optimism.
Astarion watched Gale open his own classroom door, and then prop it open - he took open door policy far too literally - and start some of his own preparations. Rolling his eyes as he watched Gale start writing what he assumed was probably something irritatingly twee, like lesson objectives, on the board, Astarion refocussed on logging onto his laptop and checking his emails.
The one from Raphael about the cruel and unusual punishment - or ‘collaboration opportunity’ as the subject line put it - had already come through. The deadline for filling in the form was Friday and it looked rather in-depth, not that Astarion believed anyone had any intention of reading whatever they filled in. He was tempted to just write something scathing and stupid then wait and see if anyone ever flagged it.
He was still scowling at his computer, thinking of synonyms for completely fucking pointless, when his first class of the day - some very excitable year sevens - started to file in.
“Morning, sir!”
Astarion blinked away his bitterness and turned to greet them, letting his personal grievances fade into the background and his attention settle on the children in front of him.
“Good morning, darlings. Did we all have lovely weekends?”
“Yeah! Mum let me watch The Exorcist even though it’s an eighteen and I didn’t sleep all night! It was great!”
“Delightful.”
By the time lunchtime rolled around, Astarion had already received not one, not two, but three emails from Gale about their project.
Good morning Astarion,
I was delighted to hear this morning that we’ll be working together this term on something that links our subject areas - I admit that I was a little blindsided as I couldn’t at first see the connection that the higher-ups had made between textiles and the ancient world, but I have had a few ideas to float past you if you happen to be free period two for a brainstorm?
Best wishes,
Gale
Dr Gale Dekarios
Head of Classics
Blackstaff Academy
Then an hour later.
Dear Astarion,
Presumably, you were otherwise occupied during second period - never fear, I am happy to jot down my thoughts for you via email for perusal at your convenience.
What seemed most obvious to me was the prevalence of weaving in ancient Greece and Rome - it was a common activity for women of nearly all social classes across much of the classical period and features heavily in several works of literature which feature on my specification (links below for you, if you’re interested).
Please do let me know when you can if that sparks any ideas at your end!
Looking forward to hearing from you,
Gale
Dr Gale Dekarios
Head of Classics
Blackstaff Academy
Attached: Women’s Roles in the Greek Oikos; Ovid and Arachne: Weaving Narratives; The Mini-Iliad in Helen’s Tapestry.
Then a mere fifteen minutes later.
Hello again Astarion,
I’ve had another idea, actually - though it might be better described as a development. Does the textiles department have a functional loom? And do you know how long it might take someone to learn how to weave? I imagine it’s a little more involved than knitting but I am no stranger to hard work and thinking outside the box.
Do let me know,
Gale
Dr Gale Dekarios
Head of Classics
Blackstaff Academy
Astarion shut his laptop and shook his head - how could the man be blind to the truth? The higher-ups had not sat down and thought about the prevalence of weaving in ancient Greece and Rome, they had paired up every other bloody department and then realised that they had two names left on the list. However, to ensure that he didn’t reply to Gale’s word vomit emails in a manner that might be raised in an employment tribunal, Astarion decided to put it off until he’d had another cup of coffee and a sandwich.
He grabbed his jacket and headed towards the staffroom.
After fixing himself a brew - nasty instant crap but sufficient to keep Astarion’s eyes open and mouth shut - he checked his pigeonhole. It contained one letter which was actually meant for Ethel, the head of Art, one which was meant for Orin about the latest drama performance, and one leaflet about union membership which was in everyone’s.
Settling onto one of the deeply uncomfortable bench seats, he opened up his lunch and tucked in. It was a moment of peace that he enjoyed in his day - the so-called family values of the school didn’t really manifest themselves most of the time, so the staffroom was pretty much only populated when someone brought in snacks for some occasion or other. Most days, Astarion had it to himself - perhaps sharing with an old-timer like Halsin, a Geography teacher who had been at Blackstaff since time began, who knew and respected Astarion well enough to leave him alone.
However, apparently, Astarion had done something recently to piss off whatever pagan gods Gale summons during his classes because Astarion was no more than two bites into his sandwich when a mop of brown hair and a sparkly earring, which didn’t make him look anywhere near as interesting as he probably thought it did, poked through the door.
“Ah! There you are! I’ve often wondered where you disappear to at lunchtime.”
Astarion gritted his teeth but forced his mouth into something akin to a smile.
“Gale. To what do I owe the intrusion?”
“Don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to check your emails this morning? Well, whether or not you have, I’ve been giving some thought to our collaboration this term. Have you had any ideas?”
“I’m afraid I’ve been far too busy teaching - you know, doing my job - to consider it.”
“Very understandable, even the limited curriculum time we’re given with them does add up, doesn’t it? Especially when you’ve got the whole school to get through each week! If only we could be in two places at once!”
“Or simply hire another member of staff.”
“Quite, though I suspect the budget might not stretch that far.”
“I imagine that it would if we strutted around in lab coats.”
Gale had sat himself down beside Astarion and was regarding him intently. That constant smile was even more irritating up close.
“If only! I’m sure you’d make safety goggles look fashionable somehow - but anyway, about our project, I was wondering if you had a loom?”
“A loom?”
“Yes - you see weaving was incredibly important in the ancient world, it took up the majority of time for women of all kinds of social classes-”
“Yes, Gale I read your email - your emails, in fact. The school hasn’t even deemed it prudent to supply their textiles department with a functional sewing machine, so no we do not have a loom.”
“Ah. Well, that sends my ideas out the window. Do you think Philomeen in DT would be able to help us make one?”
“You want us to make a loom?”
“Unless you have any better ideas?”
“Gale, do you really think that anyone in this school gives the slightest shit what we do or what we fill in on that form? I’m almost certain that I could write that we intended to start a fight club in honour of Roman gladiatorial combat and select pupils to duel to the death in my classroom on a Thursday lunchtime and no one would even flag it.”
“Everyone has been given a partner, Astarion - I know that I might not be the one you were hoping for-”
“Hoping for? I wasn’t hoping for anyone, this entire thing is a farce.”
Gale’s optimism seemed to be leeching out of him with everything that Astarion said and that was doing more to fuel him than his sandwich ever could. He’d always been partly powered by spite.
“For fuck’s sake, Gale - the only reason you’re the head of classics is that you’re the only bastard left in the city who cares about it. They only hired me so they wouldn’t have to pay someone a fair price for costume alterations for their endless bloody drama performances.”
“You do the costumes for the plays?”
“Every single one of them, but you don’t see my name in the programme, darling, do you?”
“No. But, I suppose the focus is meant to be on the kids - it’s their moment in the limelight and their time to shine. It must be very exciting to see them up there and know that you helped make it happen.”
“Yes, it’s incredibly rewarding to watch hours of my hard work ruined beyond repair when twelve-year-olds cover themselves in fake blood at the end of the millionth production of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Are you always this cynical?”
“Yes.”
“It must be exhausting.”
Any trace of that smile was gone but it was replaced with a look of concern and that just took all of the fun out of it. Astarion rolled his eyes and flapped a hand at Gale.
“Don’t worry about me, darling, I have a life outside of this stuffy box of tweed and hormones.”
That was his go-to whenever someone started to realise that he didn’t quite fit into the Blackstaff Academy vision - that his heeled boots and silk shirts might not fully adhere to the staff dress code, that his sharp tongue might not make him too popular at the end of year barbecue, or that his classes are filled at higher levels with kids who find themselves just about as in demand and comfortable in this place as he was. Don’t worry about me, this place is a stepping stone, a pit stop - I’ve got bigger things simmering.
It was nonsense, of course. Astarion barely had the energy the drag himself out of bed in the mornings, but it made him feel less like a walking pity party.
“I’m glad to hear it, work-life balance is so important in a job like this.”
“Indeed. Well, as scintillating as this had been, I’m going to eat my sandwich in my classroom.” Astarion packed his lunch back up and stood to leave. “Please don’t spend all of last period chanting again, I’ve got marking to get through and it drives me insane.”
Gale winced, “Ah, I’m afraid that my year nines need to practise the pluperfect tense so there will be a bit of it.”
“Oh goody, I’ll just spend it planning how I’ll get rid of your body instead.”
Astarion let the door fall shut behind him and marched down the hall, outside, and back across the quad, not holding a single door open behind him the whole way. Hopefully, that would buy him an extra couple of seconds to hide before the centurion came to corner him again.
Rather than going to his classroom, he headed to the sports office to see if Karlach was in to commiserate with - Sports had been paired with Biology, which would be great if it weren’t for the enormous crush that Karlach had on their head, Jaheira. It was a thing of such great power that it frequently rendered her mute whenever the two ended up in the same room.
“He’s already emailed me three times and cornered me in the staffroom,” Astarion announced as he tossed Karlach’s laptop aside and sat himself down on her desk. “I’m going to kill him before Friday and fill in the form as if it’s his suicide note. I’m sorry, Raphael, but I’m afraid that being an air-head tosspot has finally gotten too much, even for me.”
“Do you say shit like that around the kids?”
“No, I’m a ray of sunshine to the little terrors, as you well know. I adore them, and they are utterly enchanted by me.”
“Just checking. Well, mine hasn’t been going any better. She tried to suggest we meet to talk this lunch but I panicked and told her I had a cricket club to run.”
“Cricket? It’s January.”
“I know - I don’t know why I said it but now I have to start an off-season cricket team or she’ll think I’m avoiding her.”
“You are avoiding her.”
“Yes but if she finds that out she’ll think I’m weird and then I’ll have to go to another rage room - they’re expensive, Astarion.”
“At least you actually want to talk to yours. I already struggle to cope with how much of that twat I have in my life anyway - now he has an actual reason to hound me and he doesn’t seem to get that it’s completely. fucking. pointless!”
“If you want my opinion,” Wyll, Karlach’s former nemesis turned second favourite co-worker and fellow sports enthusiast, raised his head from his desk in the corner.
“I don’t.”
Wyll ignored him, as he often did, “You should give Gale a chance. He’s a good guy and I think you’d actually get on quite well if you got to know him.”
“If I got to know him, darling, then I’d also have to get to know the inside of a prison cell because the only chance I can see in him is the chance to see if I really do have it in me to take a human life.” Astarion was on a roll - his fury at Gale was the most enlivened he’d felt in months. "He’s intolerable. He turns everything into some silver-lining bullshit and pretends that he’s everyone’s best friend in the world, even if he’s barely exchanged two words with them.”
“To be honest, mate, I’ve never got why you hate him so much.” Karlach was shrugging at him. “He’s a bit cheesy but I went to see one of his lessons last year - that positive feedback thing of Raph’s that turned into a total catty shit-show. But it was fun! They pretended to sacrifice Mirkon Nessus in year eight.”
“Exactly - he’s a walking gimmick factory, about as much class as a trailer park and even less charm. If I had to describe him in three words they would be-”
Before he could share the extent of his thoughts, he was interrupted by the bell. With a groan, he shoved the rest of his sandwich into his face and scooped up his flask from Karlach’s desk.
“My point is, I deserve sympathy, pity, and some sort of karmic reward for every day that I don’t sew his mouth shut and stitch him into a straight jacket so he can’t send me any more fucking emails. Tatty-byes, darlings.”
“See ya, soldier. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Karlach called after him and he turned to wink as he hurried out the door and back towards his room.
As he sat down to start on his marking, he realised that he had another email already.
It was going to be a long week.