Wake Up Call (Marshal)

[Evan]

If there was one class that the redhead hated with a passion, it was history. He could not bring himself to care about what went on in the past. That’s exactly what it was; the past. What was the point of worrying about everything in retrospect? He had asked the teacher that exact question on the first day of classes and had only been greeted with a glare. Then, the older man had gone on for almost the entire class period about how history helps people understand what mistakes they made in the past and not to make the same mistakes in the future. The young man was not interested in making any kind of objections, mainly because he was mildly entertained by the teacher’s enthusiasm. Even at that current moment, when he was droning on about the American political parties in the 1900’s, the young man could not help but think of how much of a nerd the teacher was.

He looked around, wondering if anyone would notice him slipping earbuds out of his backpack. He just needed to drown out the teacher before he put his head down on his desk and actually fell dead asleep in the middle of the class period. As he bent over to reach into his backpack, the teacher stopped in the middle of his sentence to reprimand the red-eyed young man. “Don’t even think about it, Mister. If you didn’t take out your copybook by now, it’s pointless to do so.” The young man rolled his eyes, twirling the pen in his hand around his thumb out of boredom. The teacher’s voice blended into the static in the young man’s head. For some time, he was content with twirling the pen and catching it so he could repeat the motion. There were times that the object clattered against the desktop, which did not seem to bother the teacher, but seemed to annoy the other students, especially the ones around him. After the fifth time of dropping the pencil, he finally noticed the irritation on the face of the cute blonde girl sitting diagonal to him. He responded to the sour face with a wink and was half-tempted to compliment her on her chest, but decided he was not interested in getting into any fights that day.

After some time, the pen-twirling became less amusing, and the redhead decided that napping would be preferable to hearing the monotone voice of his teacher. He laid the side of his head against the desk, his nose wrinkling slightly. The desks were cold and uncomfortable. Last time he had checked, they were on a tropical island, so why was the plastic so damn cold? Oh well; it was pointless wasting his energy on thinking about it. He was not entirely sure why they were even bothering to educate the “students” properly in the first place. They were going to be fighting, and destroying stuff, so why did they need to learn about political parties in the 18th century? Lord, just the thought of it all gave him a headache. He shook his head a little and let his red eyes slip closed. It would be awesome if he could just get a little shut-eye before his next class. He was going to have two periods of that class back-to-back because of the science lab and he knew he could not nap then, lest he accidentally set something on fire like he did last time when he fell asleep. He pushed all of those thoughts aside and fell into a light slumber, the rising and falling of his chest and the quiet snoring coming from his mouth being the only indications that he was alive.

The young man was awoken from his light sleep when something hit him in the back. Or maybe it had been the back of his head… He was not entirely sure about the location of impact, but he did know that he woke up. He looked around, his eyes heavy-lidded as he tried to identify the person who had disturbed him from his sleep. He shrugged a little and laid his head back down, ready to sleep again when he noticed a pen that did not belong to him next to his foot. He leaned over and picked it up, staring at it in bleary-eyed confusion before turning slightly in his seat to look behind him. He did a double take when he realized there was a blonde young man sitting behind him. The redhead extended the pen, giving a tired, lazy smile. He yawned a little before speaking.

“‘Zis your pen? I think ya’ dropped it. Name’s Evan, by the way…”

[Marshal Bishop]

Marshal always felt the term “Social Studies” was a terrible way to define a history class. In fact the teacher seemed to be a terrible example at being social, or even understanding people. A class room of young adults didn’t ever want to listen to a lecture on how Andrew Jackson changed political parties in the nineteenth century. And it seem applicable at all. Marshal grew bored, the teacher’s voice was almost lulling with how deep and monotone it was.

    He looked around the room for entertainment of a sort. The girls two rows up were, passing notes from the desks next to them, a guy in the corner meticulously folded sheets of paper into boxes and swans, and the ginger in front of him was twirling his pen, constantly dropping it from a lack of practice or coordination. Marshal was bugged by the clatter the pen made when he dropped it. He seemed to drop it almost every time, catching the pen only a few times in a row before having it knock against the desk again and again. It came to the point where the blonde girl, who had been passing notes, turned around and gave him a look of frustration. Marshal didn’t see the point in her frustration, she was too busy gossiping to really care about her education.

    The ginger continued spinning his pen, prompting Marshal to do the same. The few moments of success the redhead had made were perfect for Marshal’s mimicry. The ginger, put down his pen, obviously bored from the repetition that had become more work than pleasure. The rest of the class was in a stasis of sorts, still moving motions as the majority of the students actually started to take notes. No wonder the ginger was falling asleep. Marshal looked at the pen he’d been spinning on and off, in a new, more curious, light.

    He spun the pen faster, and faster, trying to see how fast he could do the motion without slipping up. It had almost appeared to be a blur of sorts. Marshal smiled at his success pushing himself to go even faster, it was going well up until his hand cramped up. Unable to continue the motion or catch the pen, the utensil flew from his desk, hitting the ginger in front of him. Getting hit in the back of the head wasn’t a pleasant wake up call. Sluggishly tired, the ginger stretched, rubbing the back of his head, and picked up Marshal’s pen inspecting it with a lightly tired confusion. He turned around, offering the pen to Marshal, “Zis your pen?”

Marshal nodded taking it from the ginger’s hand, “yeah, thanks.”

“Name’s Even, by the way...”

“Marshal Bishop,” he replied offering a handshake. “Sorry about that, got a bit carried away there.” Marshal looked at the teacher, he was pacing the front of the class as if he were thinking aloud. “Not the most interesting class.”

[Evan]

Evan had barely noticed the noise behind him. He was not really paying attention enough to realize that the young man behind him was mimicking what he was doing. He was just trying to entertain himself in a class that made him want to sleep. The teacher’s voice did not help the situation either. If the old man would just vary his pitch occasionally, all of the students would be paying attention, not just some. Of course, that did not mean that Evan would actually be taking notes; the last thing he wanted to do was try and keep up. He had tried a few times at the beginning of his tenure at Ashford, but he found that the teachers talked faster than he could write. Besides, he was never really good at school anyway, so no one expected any kind of high grades from him; not that he had anyone that would to begin with.

Evan’s situation was an odd one, of sorts. He really had no parents, no family, not even a last name. Sensei had never revealed his last name, nor had he explained to Evan where the hell he came from. The young man never seemed to have a real problem with it; it was just part of his easygoing nature. He supposed he would eventually find out whatever he needed to in order to survive. His eyes shifted around the room, breaking him out of his introspection. The class looked like it did pretty much every day; all of the “good” students were taking notes and all of the “bad” ones were occupying themselves with other things. No one had been trying to get his attention, so there was no real reason for him to stay awake. He did not really care much for history and it was pointless for him to listen to a monotone that just became static when it hit his brain anyway. With that in mind, he settled his head on his desk and slept for a little while, until he was woken up by a pen.

Evan had hoped that the pen he had picked up from the floor belonged to the young man sitting behind him. If not, he would have looked like a real moron in front of everyone. Not that he cared much, of course, but it still would have been at least a little embarrassing. He nodded a little when the kid, whose name was Marshal, apparently, took the pen from his hand. He scratched the back of his head a little bit; how long had the blonde been sitting behind him? He had to be new, or, at least, newer, because the redhead had never seen him before. At least, not at Ashford. He did look like a kid the young man used to hang out with, but it was probably just him making associations that were not actually there. Either that, or he was just tired and thinking too much. Probably the last one, he thought to himself, letting another yawn slip past his lips. He blinked slightly, realizing a few moments too late that there was a hand in front of him. Nevertheless, he shook it, albeit weakly, thanks to being awoken suddenly. The apology brought a look of confusion to Evan’s face and he chuckled tiredly, nodding a little.

“S’all good. Heh, yeah, I know what you mean. God, this is all so boring. Why can’t we learn something that we can actually use?”

Evan was not one that dwelled on the subject of school very much. His apathy toward it made it a topic he tried to avoid. With that in mind, he would rather converse with one of his classmates about things of relevance than things that only mattered to the people who lived at the time. He glanced around the room again, watching a particularly pretty young lady take notes for several minutes before turning back to the front again. If he was going to be stuck in this damn class for another thirty minutes, the least he could do was entertain himself by getting to know the person behind him. He did consider himself a very friendly person, even after being woken up. He tapped his pen against the desk a little, trying to come up with something to say. It was not often that he thought about what he said before saying it, but it was hard to drum up conversation on the spot, especially with another guy. At least, with a girl, he could give her a compliment; this situation, on the other hand, was a little tougher. After a few minutes of collecting his thoughts, he let out small huff of frustration and turning slightly to face Marshal again.

“Ya know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around much. You keep under the radar a lot, or are you new here? Pretty sure that seat was empty a few weeks ago, but it could just be that I’m not paying attention.”

[Marshal Bishop]

Evan responded flatly, due to his annoyance of the subject before the two of them and the post nap drowsiness. Marshal shrugged in response, trying to rub off the subject of waking the kid. Marshal sat there as Evan stared at him, he appeared to be deep in thought like one does when ‘rebooting’ from sleep. The eye contact made Marshal somewhat uncomfortable, as he couldn’t quite read Evan. Luckily for Marshal, Evan turned around again, looking around the room staring at the blonde girl’s chest. Marshal saw his affinity and immediately wondered if the notes the girls had been passing back and forth had anything to do with the ginger. It was an interesting thought, but it probably didn’t hold any truth.

Marshal finished his observation and continued spinning the pen, now trying with his other hand, to meet a good, steady pace. It went like that for a few minutes, everything was back to normal, students took their notes, some payed attention while others didn’t. All was well in an ever moving universe, turning and rotating just like Marshal’s pen. Marshal closed his eyes. He was almost relaxed and ready to fall asleep flipping his pencil around his thumb and back into position when the ginger, Evan, turned around bombarding Marshal with questions.

Marshal dropped his pen again, slightly frustrated that his moment of peace was interrupted. He opened his eyes noticing a pair of brown eyes staring back at him. He gave him a look suggesting slight irritation then answered, “Been here a few weeks now, I’ve always sat here since then.” Marshal would usually be glad for conversation if it wasn’t for the bad timing. “I could go under the radar if I wanted, really. It wouldn’t be that hard.” Marshal stated confidently, picking up his pen for the third time now twisting and spinning it around his thumb as he did before.