Unus Putesco pro Paradiso

[Nayt]

Eilert's blanking out aside, he managed to get Icsorue to laugh a bit. Of course, any child of her and Sturm's would be tough to handle, but she was ready for that! It would just be her luck, too, to have a child just like herself. Fortunately, that meant that she'd know how to handle her. First and foremost, she'd have to not be such an authoritarian! If she could be both a friend and a parent, then all would be well--so much trouble would be minimized by just that. That had been one of the problems she had with her last foster parents. They weren't friends at all . . . they were parents, they were figures of authority that were there to keep her in line. She appreciated that, sure, but it drove her crazy--she wanted more out of a family than that.

For awhile, they had discussed what the child would be like . . . a frizzy haired little girl who'd bounce off the walls if left unattended. The type of child who'd have so much energy and so much attitude that Icsorue and Sturm would have their hands full at all times.

Of course, before they ate, Icsorue remembered something she had forgot: grace. They hadn't said grace. While Icsorue wasn't an overly devout Catholic, she was still a Catholic woman, and she at least said grace before dinner. She may not have agreed with certain practices in the Church, but she believed in the same God--and she was thankful, she really was . . . especially now, when she had something to be truly thankful for. As a Deist, Sturm didn't do anything like say grace, but for Icsorue's sake, he didn't go against it.

The meal hadn't lasted too long, but was delicious nonetheless. Icsorue ate a bit more than she would have were she not pregnant, and Sturm ate a bit less than he would if Icsorue wasn't pregnant--a direct correlation, really. Icsorue ate because of (good) stress, and Sturm didn't eat too much because of any stress, good or bad.

Eventually, after the fact, they had separated--Eilert with Sturm and Icsorue with Helena, the latter two talking excitedly about Icsorue's plans with the house and how she intended to prepare for the baby (as well as general discussions, since it had been awhile since they were together), while Sturm and Eilert had a chess board between them . . . and Sturm was losing. Badly.

Sturm moved one of his pieces (not knowing the end of the game was soon to come), as he asked, "That reminds me . . . do you still teach those Saturday study classes?"

[Zach Kaiser]

Neither Eilert nor Helena objected to Icsorue saying grace; while neither was Catholic, they believed in the same God, though whether Eilert truly believed or not was up for debate, as he didn't often speak about religion. (The truth was that it was because he didn't often think about religion either.)

Dinner was over before long, and after Helena and Eilert finished cleaning up they joined Icsorue and Sturm in the living area again, splitting up between the men and women.

"I started teaching it again just recently," Eilert explained. He moved one of his own pieces into position. "Check."

"Why do you ask?"

[Nayt]

Sturm winced inwardly as soon as he heard Eilert declare check. There was a problem in playing Eilert Draugr in chess: namely, it bordered upon impossible. Although Eilert didn't teach much philosophy or logic, such things that would explain his unbeatable strategies in chess . . . all of which it didn't seem as if he thought about at all . . . he was still just that: unbeatable. Sturm had come close once or twice, but never succeeded, and no one that he knew who also played chess with Eilert ever succeeded, either. One time, Icsorue had played him, and she almost won! But it was a pity sort of thing--he was intentionally going easy on her when that happened, and he still won.

Once more, Sturm moved a piece--this one momentously important, but the only way he could possibly get his king out of check. He was down by quite a few pieces . . . there really was no hope to win the game, but it was just a game. He wasn't the type to get angry and forfeit.

"I'm just curious," he replied, "Some of my upper level anatomy students coerced me to teach a study session tomorrow afternoon, and I did not know if you'd also be there or not."

Saturday classes were generally just that: study sessions. Classes ran for five days a week, and students all lived in dormitories, regardless of if they were from Worcester or not. There was no such deal like "commuting." So, it wasn't like they couldn't hold Saturday classes. Most teachers just valued their weekends and didn't offer those monitored study sessions, during which they helped out students who were having trouble and glossed over details of previous lectures for those who needed a better understanding. It was much easier than tutoring students one on one.

[Zach Kaiser]

"Mhmm," Eilert murmured in confirmation. There was a brief time where he started teaching again but refrained (like many others) from doing the Saturday study sessions to allow himself more time to rest. However now that he was recovering more of his energy he preferred to do it.

"Many of the students in my more difficult classes find it helpful. I expect several of the students from my Latin class in particular." Including Mayako and Zenos, though they certainly didn't need as much help as some.

He moved a final piece into position. "I believe that's checkmate," he intoned. He didn't think much about his chess skills--he was just naturally good at it. He could, at a glance, see potential moves and outcomes; he knew instinctively when it where it was important to protect and where he could allow opponents to move. He was also very difficult to read, because...well, he was always difficult to read. He wasn't a particularly expressive person most of the time, which left anyone who tried to guess what he was doing in the dark.

It helped that he never seemed to think much of his victories; in fact, he'd probably be surprised if Sturm pointed out he beat him every time. In his mind, he wasn't that good, and surely must have lost his fair share of matches...

[Nayt]

Sturm stared hard at the board, not quite replying to Eilert just yet. He was busy examining the board, checking every detail, taking in the image of every piece that he had not otherwise examined before his last move. Every move that could possibly be made from there was checked, and indeed, he had lost. Sturm usually did this--he liked to try and learn from his mistakes, and in chess, he made quite a lot. When it came to biology, he was a genius--when it came to logic, he was a mastermind. But when it came to tactics, wherein he had to put that logic to good use . . . he wasn't so great at it. Sure, he could easily defeat someone like Icsorue in a game of chess, or even Dieter Freidenker, the professor of art at Worcester Academy, who wasn't too bad at the game, himself.

Tyrian Sturm was startled from his examination of his defeat by Icsorue, who--whilst standing by the door to see outside, called out to him, "Tyrian! The stagecoach is back!"

Prompted out of his thoughts, Sturm leaned back, reaching his hand into his pocket. If the stagecoach was back already, then they were going to have to make quick with their exit, or else the man would probably leave them behind . . . and Sturm really didn't want to trouble them with more guests. That and the only way they'd get back home tomorrow would be if they rode with Eilert to the school, and managed to get back to the house from there, which although it wasn't particularly tough to do, Icsorue liked to sleep in . . . a lot. Though, she was going to have to get used to getting up in the morning sooner or later, all things considered.

Sturm retracted from his pocket a pocket watch, flipped open quickly so he could check the time. The stagecoach was early, but there wasn't much they could do about that, other than picking a different business offering transportation next time. This one was relatively inexpensive, and they apparently got what they had paid for. Lessons learned, mistakes to not be repeated again . . .

"I see," Sturm muttered, a bit disappointed by this. Though, it wasn't like he wasn't going to see Eilert again. He extended his open hand to Eilert, "Good match, Eilert."

[Zach Kaiser]

"Indeed," Eilert agreed, taking Sturm's hand and shaking it heartily. As usual, he didn't seem to think much of his victory, as though the game could have gone either way regardless of what actually happened.

He was sorry to have them go so soon, but if their coach was here already it couldn't be helped. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow. Again, congratulations." He was a little envious of him, but he was forced to admit if was still possible he wouldn't be up for raising a child until he was fully recovered.

Helena, meanwhile, couldn't help but make a girly squeal as she hugged Icsorue. "Ohhhhh! Goodbye! Take care of yourself, now! And come back any time!"

[Nayt]

Icsorue had been giddy all night long. After all, she had only recently learned that she was pregnant, so she hadn't the opportunity yet to reveal that sort of information with anyone she was particularly close to, or at least had a strong preference for. She was still working on a letter to her "parents," which she really wanted to finish, but just hadn't got to it yet, mainly because she was so busy mapping out parts of the house and taking down lists of what she was going to need if it was a boy or a girl, and name ideas--and generally over-thinking things way too early. She'd burn out eventually, settle down, and not be so hastily excited, but it'd take a couple of weeks. The woman was full of energy (as any child of her was guaranteed to be, as well), so this was just normal. She'd go and go and go until she ran out of energy, then she'd plot down and be lethargic for awhile.

"Thank you~!!" she exclaimed with glee as she returned Helena's hug enthusiastically. When she had stepped back, she jumpily exclaimed, "And--and--and--we can cook you two a dinner at our place! Sometime soon~."

She might have wanted a few suggestions from Helena about placement and wall colors and the like. It wasn't like Sturm was good with anything like that. He wasn't a creative person in the slightest--well, with things like this. When it came to the actual creation of a person, he was an artist.

After he stood from the chess table, Sturm approached and stood by Icsorue. If he had thought to bring a jacket with him, he'd have put it over his shoulders before they left.

"Helena, always good to see you," Sturm stated respectfully, before adding, "Oh, also--I know the two of you have had a bit of wine, but please don't forget to remind Eilert to take his medication. I'd rather not have to substitute teach his Latin class again."

The latter part was a joke added to his initial statement regarding Eilert's health. Sturm was actually trained to be a doctor, and the only reason he wasn't in the practice right now was because his license had been in a state of pending since he moved to America, and though it was legit now, he had already established himself in a career of teaching, and simply hadn't left that job. Besides, if someone in the school needed a doctor, he was there, and he'd likely do better than what an American trained doctor would ever do. Sturm wasn't an egocentric man, but he was one to admit when the Germans simply did things better, and health care and the training for such was vastly superior in Germany. A German med student knew the body from the inside out; an American med student could make educated guesses. Nonetheless, because of his training, he was almost constantly thinking about the health of another person, and was quick to remind them of things and make suggestions as if he were a practicing doctor.

"Byyeee~~!" Icsorue turned to wave to them, backing towards the door with Sturm by her side, ready to catch her if she tripped.

They were gone soon afterward, leaving Eilert and Helena alone, to their own devices, and about a half of an hour earlier than originally planned.

[Zach Kaiser]

"I'm looking forward to it," Helena chirped happily, though Eilert briefly wondered if dinner made by those two was such a good idea, especially if Icsorue needed to rest and it was all up to Sturm.

"Good to see you too, Tyrian. I'll make sure he takes it, even if it means he has a headache in the morning." Not being a physician, Helena was only vaguely aware of the potential danger of combining alcohol and medication. In any case, Eilert didn't have that much, so it couldn't do him much harm, she figured.

They waved goodbye as the coach shrunk into the distance. Turning to her husband, Helena asked, "Do you have any work to do tonight?"

Eilert shook his head. "No, I plan on getting it done during tomorrow's study session."

This caused Helena to smile, and she took his hand affectionately. "Then let's relax for the evening."

******

The study session was going well, at least for the students. Eilert, however, was having trouble concentrating on correcting his papers. This was normal, however--he was usually a bit out of it just after he took some of his medication. He found if he got up and walked around a bit, it helped clear his head, and fortunately for a study session he didn't need to be around constantly.

So he took to the halls for a few minutes, intending to go to the courtyard to get some fresh air.

[Nayt]

As Eilert steadily progressed down the corridor, intending to get himself to the front entrance of the building--a Hall which was generally specialized for the sciences, he and another began to mutually approach one another upon both sides of the corridor. Sturm, with his hands in his pockets, proceeded intently, at first not noticing his friend and colleague, but he stopped once he did.

Sturm wasn't dressed in his usual attire for school--the jacket, tie, and slacks uniform that he toted as a declaration of professionalism. He was much more lax when it came to Saturday classes, which he usually didn't like to teach in the first place, and simply wore a button up shirt and casual slacks--nothing professional, but it was still obvious enough that he was an educator.

"Oh, Eilert, good afternoon," Sturm greeted him.

Even while greeting his companion, he only seemed partially there. There was something of interest to be had, something he had heard about a few moments ago, and was intrigued.

He glanced down the hall, focusing there, rather than Eilert--all the while asking with a fair amount of interest: "Are you busy at the moment?"

[Zach Kaiser]

Eilert's gait slowed as he saw his friend approach, but oddly enough the usually attentive man failed to notice him until he was practically on top of him. "Good afternoon," he returned, wondering what was distracting him.

"No...I'm just taking a breather," he told him. While anything that had Sturm that distracted was probably not something that was going to help clear his mind, he wasn't about to ignore him when something was bothering him.

"What's on your mind?"

[Nayt]

"It's nothing too imperative, just . . ."

Sturm trailed off, looking to the floor. It was difficult to give this a word, if only because this situation was exceedingly rare. It wasn't even that much of a "situation," just a little development that was of much interest to the faculty and students alike. That was it--

"Interesting." He trailed off again.

It wasn't often for something to be interesting enough to Sturm that would merit him feeling some amount of need to investigate--but here, he did. Usually, this meant something something regarding biology was currently going down, and he wanted to be part of it.

"A new student has currently confiscated a lecture hall," he continued, "By force of argument, so I'm told. He managed to best the professor as an intellectual, and is now "teaching" a lecture. I'm honestly not too sure about the details, but I'm interested. Several of our colleagues are there to investigate, as well. I'd also like to see exactly what the hype about this student is. Would you like to come?"

It wasn't that they were going to shut the student up. This wasn't a weekday--they had the right to do it, yes, but none of them were going to. It wasn't like valuable time was being occupied by this student. Any students currently in classes right now were there because they wanted to, and the teachers were paid a salary, not an hourly wage. Since no new concepts were being brought up, or even needed to be, there was no need to shut a person down for an intellectual disagreement, 'less disciplinary actions were obviously needed, and if all the talk that Sturm had been hearing was correct, he was absolutely certain that none would be required.

[Zach Kaiser]

"Is that so." It was unusual, to be sure. While not the most prestigious school in the country, the standards there were pretty high--none of the teachers were slouches to be sure.

"Certainly, I'll take a look," he assented with a nod, his curiosity piqued. "What subject is he lecturing?" Obviously not anything Sturm or he taught--the amount of studying required for most of their areas of expertise required too much time for a student to master on his own, even a genius, not to mention that the materials needed weren't available to just anybody.

Besides, Sturm said that the student out-talked the teacher, so he assumed the subject was something like philosophy or religion. When dealing with subjects of fact one could debate different theories, but there wasn't much else to dispute, and certainly there was nothing to argue about over Latin--the closest he could think of was interpreting what an author meant, but that was less of a language issue and more of a social one.

[Nayt]

"Philosophy," replied Sturm as they walked, "Except . . . it's a Grammar and Literature course. Scott Thompson's course, in particular."

Which was especially odd . . . considering that particular teacher. What Sturm said alone was enough to merit the interest of anyone who happened to be in the school, educator and student alike--and that was likely the case. As they neared the back of the Hall, they found more and more people, both students and teachers, in the hall (although, not nearly as much as they could have found, considering that this was a Saturday).

Scott Thomspon was a truly astounding man, a scoundrel, a lecher, an intellectual bully, and an all around trouble maker since the day he was born. With time, those habits of his started to show less and less, but he was the same Scott Thompson as always: he was most characterized as an intellectual bully, and regarding his classes and teaching methods, he was known amongst the faculty as setting himself upon a high horse that no one could actually disprove or provide any reasonable excuse for him to step down from his sarcasm laden non-stop ego trip. The thing was . . . the man was a genius in his craft and a great teacher, albeit his condescending and joking attitude. He was also a chain smoker, and most frequently the cause for the teachers' lounge in this particular Hall being clouded with smoke (notably, no campus nation-wide was even close to smoke-free).

It wasn't often that Scott Thompson gave a student the benefit of the doubt, and it was even rarer when a student could out-argue him. This more than likely meant that something piqued the man's interests and he conceded to the student, since, with his mastery of the fields of grammar, literature, and writing, he could prove himself right even if he was, in fact, wrong. But still: if it was enough to shut Scott Thompson up, it was worth checking out . . .

The students in the corridor all made sure to respectfully give their professors space to move, and stepped aside when the two men were walking past--even letting them into the room at the far back of the hallway. Within the lecture hall, relatively packed with . . . what looked like almost all of the students and teachers on campus on this day . . . no one paid a glance to the two educators that entered. Nearly every gaze was transfixed upon the youth standing before Thompson's desk, and Thompson himself was standing near the entrance, the tall, scrawny, dark haired, bespectacled young man he was. He paid a glance to the two teachers as they entered, a grin, shrug, and a halfhearted wave.

Within the center of the room stood the student of interest, and just by looks alone, he undoubtedly stood out more than any other student enrolled in this prep school--possibly even the entire town, if only because of something he could not control: he had a strong case of albinism. His skin was nearly powder white, his hair, without pigment, appeared as a ruffled silver-gray, and his eyes were a chilling red. He was young; he couldn't have been older than fifteen, and wore his uniform without a jacket (which had been discarded sometime prior)--dark slacks, dress shoes, and a long sleeved white button down shirt. He was only five feet and ten inches tall, and likely hadn't an ounce of excess fat on his body. As soon as Eilert was within the confines of the lecture hall, the adolescent paused to look--ignoring Sturm and all others, and staring so briefly at only Eilert that it could not have been anything more than a wayward glance, yet it may as well have felt like hours--and smiled, before turning his attention forward once more.

[Zach Kaiser]

"Aha." Hearing that it was Scott Thompson's class helped explain it a lot; he was a very unorthodox teacher to begin with, which both worked for and against him. On one hand, he didn't carry himself with the same dignity that Sturm or even he himself did, but on the other hand Eilert couldn't help but wonder if that helped him relate to his students a bit more.

It was still a very unusual occurrence, though.

Very few made note of their entrance into the room, which was fine by him; the last thing he wanted was to disrupt things by drawing attention to himself. But it seemed unlikely that it would happen even if he tried; it seemed like nearly the entire school was there, and they were far from the first staff to enter the room.

And yet after situating themselves at the very back of the lecture hall, the speaker turned towards them--no, to Eilert specifically, he was sure. Perhaps it was that his appearance was also a little bit out of the ordinary, being taller than most and having bright orange hair, not to mention he was still rather pale most of the time.

Whatever the reason, for a moment time seemed to stand still. The teenage boy who managed to take over a classroom at a university smiled at him--and again, he was sure it was at him specifically--with eerie red eyes. It was not a friendly smile...he had difficulty describing it, but it sent a chill down his spine and made his breath catch in his throat.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, leaving Eilert to wonder if he'd merely slipped into a waking dream briefly. But even without having his attention, there was something about the boy he found unsettling, even agitating.

"Do you know who he is?" he asked Sturm; he was sure he'd never laid eyes on him before, but perhaps his friend knew.

[Nayt]

". . . I don't know," replied Sturm.

Something was bothering him, too. Namely, the color of the teenager's skin. Albinism was extremely rare amongst animals, let alone people! With people, it was so decidedly rare that over three fourths of the human population would never once see an albino person, and when they did, said albino wasn't so noticeable as he or she could have been, and yet here this one was, his skin bleach white . . .

"No one informed me that we had a student here with albinism . . ." he trailed off.

Thompson was nearby, though. He, clad in his casual suit, tie, and skull hugging cap, side-stepped his way into Sturm and Eilert's company. For a moment, the boy for whom the student and faculty body paid full attention had taken a temporary break, only a couple of seconds, as more began to enter--as if he were letting them enter, and smiling so pleasantly so not to let them think that he was disturbed. His smile . . . it didn't fade, almost as if it were a constant--as if he could do nothing but . . .

Scott stopped when he was only a couple of feet from Eilert. He had heard the question, and gave a quiet "ahem" to announce his presence--to suggest that he could be asked. After all, Sturm didn't know, and the boy was in Scott's class! Since it was best sometimes to just ignore Scott Thompson, Sturm did, and whether or not Eilert considered doing so as well, Scott was immediately set into a state of impatience because of Tyrian Sturm.

"The boy's name is Arlraevous," Scott added, "Tabris Innocentii Arlraevous."

"That's an . . . odd name," replied Sturm--though, it made sense. The boy was already a decidedly odd person.

"Biblican name, I suppose. I can only infer that his parents were devout Catholics. To name a kid after the Angel of Will and Pope Innocent the second . . ." Scott scratched his chin in thought, "Probably scary Cats, too, if they're that devout . . ."