"Aren't you coming with us to the bar?" Mr. Akiba, one of the other English teachers asked the exchange teacher, who was at his desk and working busily.
Jonathan Miller's sharp mind was belied by his a five o'clock shadow and close-cropped, scruffy sandy-blonde hair. He had light brown eyes hidden by his prescription glasses, accented by noticeable cheekbones and a sharp nose. His accent was not overtly Scottish and he sounded plainly English instead. He was usually seen wearing a neat shirt and tie worn underneath an argyle sweater vest knitted by his mother, along with a tidy pair of slacks and shoes.
"I've got assignments to grade, I'll be with you later," he replied without taking his eyes off of his work. He had a stack of assignments that were written interchangeably in English and Japanese. The assignment itself was a few questions relating to the motivations of the main and secondary characters in To Kill a Mockingbird. Some answers were written in English, but most of the time it was in Japanese.
"Fine, suit yourself. See ya," Mr. Akiba left the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Jonathan to his devices. He continued marking, and gave extra marks to the kids who gave their answers in English, especially the ones who'd made an effort to try.
After another half hour of steady work, the stack of assignments were sitting in his 'DONE' tray, marked and ready to be handed out tomorrow afternoon. He then stood up from his chair, pushed it in, gathered his wallet and mobile phone, turned off the lights, and left the office. He always wondered why the staff in his office indulged themselves so heavily after a hard day's work. He believed in reward, but getting drunk and coming to work with a hangover wasn't his idea of a reward.
He eventually reached the bar that the faculty frequented about fifteen minutes away from the campus. He sat down amidst his peers, who were roaring drunk.
"Milleeer..." One of the Science teachers leaned towards him, causing Jonathan to lean away from her, "C'mon, live a little, I'll buy a drink for you."
Jonathan scratched his chin, "Lemonade, please."
The science teacher looked mortified and dumbstruck by this request, "I thought you Scottish people were able to drink from barrels!"
Jonathan shrugged indifferently, "Well, I'm not one of those Scots," He then stood up and bought the lemonade himself, sipping it quietly as the ruckus roared on around him. He continued wondering, why, just why does the the faculty submit themselves to this?
Mr. Akiba had a sealed section of his bookshelf full of 'echii' and 'hentai' comics which were confiscated from students and he liked to take a gander at them so he could 'determine the severity of their punishment'.
Mr. Yamada was almost corpse-like where ever he went, and probably wouldn't work in an iron lung. Jon speculated that he was kept there by favours.
Mrs. Ikikki, the previously seen Science teacher used to drink methylated spirits in the science room to keep her nerves steady, but it'd eventually turned into a crushing alcoholism.
And then there was Mrs. Camilla, one of the other English exchange teachers, the one the kids referred to as "the mean one", and that was one of the lighter nicknames used for her. She also taught the advanced Kendo classes, where she was known as 'Gozen's Auntie', in reference to the female samurai Tomoe Gozen.
Oh well, it wasn't Jonathan's job to tell them to change their ways. He was here to teach English, and that's what he hoped to keep on doing. However, he didn't have time to think about that as Mrs. Amano put her hand on Jonathan's crotch and almost into his pants, provoking a swift reaction.
Jon pried the hand off of his bits, and then dumped the contents of his lemonade glass on them, chilling himself out. He then stood up and left the bar amid whispers of questionable sanity on Jonathan's part.
He had taken a few napkins when he'd left, and dabbed himself dry as he walked to his apartment in the darkness, dotted by the occasional lamp post. He always wondered why, nowadays, he could see more blurs in the edge of his vision, more tricks of the light, more things that he couldn't put his finger on. Maybe Fingale's law was in full effect. Things were getting worse unless someone was able to steer them towards a good outcome.
Or maybe he was just a bit worried about life in general, and had to relax a bit in a constructive fashion. He'd done his day's work, it was time to unwind. He usually did so by indulging himself in carpentry, carving figurines and items like cutlery or book-ends. They made good conversation pieces, but he didn't think too much of his work. Just the interesting by-products of spare time.
Tonight he was working on a little wooden figurine of a knight that could be used in a chess game. He'd been working on a chess set for a while, steadily replacing the cheap plastic pieces, one by one, every night.
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