xp_logs | Shinobi, M and the French Revolution (Reply)

Somehow, Shinobi had managed to conduct as serious and professional a class as he usually did, despite the fact that his skin still occasionally gave off a little purple sparkle whenever the lights caught the few flecks of glitter still stuck to it. But at least his suit was clean. As the last of the history class files out of the room, he's seated himself on the edge of his desk, idly twirling a red pen between his fingers as he eyes the stack of turned-in assignments next to him, the bruise on his left cheek difficult for onlookers to miss, though he seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring it.

Of course, there iss always one person available who would not only ignore the guidelines of tact, the rules of engagement, but probably the fuzzy suggestions of intellect. Monet hoists herself onto the desk, dumping her assignment on top of the pile. "You look like a fairy who's walked into a bikie bar," she says conversationally. "Of course, it's a look that goes very well with the whole thing you've got going where you pretend you're a teacher. I didn't know you knew how to accessorize that well."

"Oh, no, you were right. I don't know how to accessorize. This is Sefton and de la Rocha's doing." With a patient grin, Shinobi turns his attention to Monet, seemingly having no comment about her taking a seat on the desk. At least, not yet. "And Braddock is to blame for my game of pretend. I didn't exactly ask for this gig, you know."

"Which I totally don't understand. Why would you want to be a teacher? Hell, why would you give in if someone else wanted you to be?" Monet tosses her hair. "It just seems so pointless. There could be correspondence courses or something." She blinks a few times. "Actually, that was something I was going to ask."

"She didn't really give me a chance to say no, and I have to earn my keep around here somehow," Shinobi shrugs, tucking the pen behind his ear and folding his hands in his lap. He tilts his head curiously, quirking an eyebrow in thought. "What, about correspondence courses? If there's anything like that here, Emma'd likely know."

"No, not correspondence courses. I mean, for that I'd go harass Jake, and who needs more learning anyway." Monet scoffs. "It's about that other. Why do you have to earn your place? Why do you have to keep sucking up to everyone? I mean," she waves a hand around in frustration. "Why should you care what they think of you? Why do you keep rolling over and showing your belly? What're you scared of?" Despite her words, her expression is one of mild curiosity.

Shinobi must be in a _very_ good mood, because instead of getting upset or defensive, he replies honestly, blinking twice and looking a bit surprised that the question even needs asking. "I'm scared of being sent home," he replies simply. "I've been treated well since I got here, so the least I can do is freeload slightly less than they expect me to, right?"

M picks up pen off the table and absently twisting it into her hair while she thinks about that. "So. You figure that if you don't be a total suck, they're gonna send you back. I wouldn't have thought that they'd be like that, they kinda strike me as total softies. But, I guess you've been around longer, so." She shrugs. "So long as no one turns around and expects me to be all," she flutters her hands around in what she probably figures is an ineffectual manner, "y'know. Just because I am here. 'Cause the only thing I could teach would be how to pack a bong or maybe how to mosh. Which, I guess, would make me guidance counselor."

"I just figure they have an over-abundance of dead weight, and I would be best served earning their trust before they decide I'm spying for my father or some other bollocks like that." With a shrug, Shinobi eyes her amusedly, casually reaching over to try and snatch the pen back out of her hair. "I don't think anyone expects much of any of us, M. No reason not to surprise them."

Without paying attention to Shinobi's hand, Monet sways out of the way and to her feet. "Well, I hadn't thought about spying. I guess I could totally be spying for Daddy too, if he wanted me to." She smiles prettily. "I was just curious about stuff, y'know. Because when I first came I thought you'd be cool, but then, y'know, it's really not sexy to be a crawler. But. Anyway. I don't know if my assignment is what you wanted, 'cause I think I answered the wrong question. Plus, French Revolution stuff is all kinda dumb."

Shrugging as she sways out of the way, Shinobi decides he can live without the pen and reaches down for the stack of assignments, absently rubbing at the nape of his neck as he gives her paper a quick looking-over. "Well, history in general is pretty dumb, truthfully. It's all bound to be repeated in some capacity eventually, because people just aren't original enough to think up new tragedies, you know? But maybe some of the old fixes will work for the new problems. Never know."

M gives him the look every teenager in the world has given a teacher at some point, the one that suggests that only a complete loser would care about whatever the subject is when important things like American Idol are on TV. "Well, I guess if it floats your boat." She pats his shoulder absently. "I gotta go do some Math homework, because I completely didn't last night. See ya."

Shinobi glances up in time to catch the look full-on, smiling wryly and very slightly arching an eyebrow. "Have fun," he muses, plucking the red pen from behind his ear and glancing between it and his handful of papers. God willing, it has enough ink to get through the stack. "If you see Manuel, run the other way. Especially if he has his cane."