Fic: Heads

Jul. 15th, 2017 11:10 pm
afra_schatz: Made by wizzicons on LJ (Default)
[personal profile] afra_schatz
Seems my early-summer-hols-narcolepsy has set in already :). I did, however, wake up for long enough to write this:



By two in the afternoon, the majority of JC's boarders have left the school's premises. Off to visit their parents all over the world, picked up by said parents, dropped off at York's train station to go away for summer camp. Jackson College is quiet and that there is no tumble weed bumbling about the place is pretty much just due to the gardeners' excellent work.

All six heads of house have different rituals for this sudden loss of purpose / blessed freedom.

The head of Wellesley Hall does not exactly have a good cry about it. Because he is from the North, and men from the North don't have good cries about anything, unless we are talking Sheffield's best football club or a long running soap set in the Dales. So there is no crying per se. But there are a lot of wistful looks as he checks the empty rooms for things like forgotten food (more for hygienic reasons and not so much to eat it, though back in 2008 he helped himself to a set of wonderful chocolates from Belgium that would've gone stale over the holidays anyway). He also spends a lot of time in Tala, the central common room with the photos on the walls, and most of his smiles are accompanied by a little sigh.

The head of Mirkwood House subsequently goes out of his way to stay out of the way of so much useless sentimentality. He definitely doesn't drop in at Wellesley for a brew. He checks the empty rooms for bodies, and if he happens to find them not spotless clean, he orders some of the few boarders still present to clean up after their sloppy mates. If the weather allows it, he takes out one of his two motorbikes and goes for a prolonged ride; the destination being pretty irrelevant usually, though maybe this year something (or rather someone) might direct the BMW or the Yamaha towards Bishopshill.

The head of Austen House opens a bottle of Château Grand Puy Lacoste in the middle of the day and drinks a glass of wonderfully decadent red on the balcony of her house, her naked feet propped against the banister and a copy of a book written by the namesake of her house in her lap.

The head of Palm House is not really a wine buff. She and her husband appreciate a cold lager, though, even if they wait for it till the sun is going down and they sit on the lawn in front of their house. The afternoon they spent inside, looking at pictures from previous holidays and coming up with details for the upcoming one in Florida. It's a good thing, too, that they postpone the lager till the evening; he comes up with stories about gator hunting in the Glades and she counters with more and more complicated murders to be solved, and they are giggly enough even without the addition of alcohol thrown into the mix.

The head of Arnor House always claims the school year could've gone on for another two weeks at least, he isn't tired. He continues trying to prove his point by using all that extra energy he has, since the majority of his charges have fled the nest, by trying to clean up said nest. He cleans up the library, empties out the fridge, straightens the picture frames in the hallway, does the laundry – and most of the stuff at the same time. The house mother is nowhere to be seen during all of this; she is not insane. The other bloke living at Arnor House recognizes that kind of behaviour for the distraction it is from suddenly having hardly anyone to fuss over / to be exasperated about. He spends the better part of the day out, tending to his car, before he comes home to find loud music coming from the common room and the handful of boarders still left rolling their eyes at him as they run into him in the hallway. It is not exactly the job of the head of house to paint over nicks on the red walls of the common room, but that is of course what he is doing, humming along to the song coming from the radio and absentmindedly swinging his hips to match the rhythm. The song changes every year – this year it is Shakira – but the rest of the routine is pretty much the same every time; of course there is dancing next to the pool table.

The head of Erebor Manor had a lot of first-day-of-the-holidays traditions – a surprising amount of which involved lobsters and one even included the usage of multiple axes (you don't want to know). However, in 2017 – his last year in Jackson College – he hopes to have installed a new one. He and his successor have a wonderful breakfast, and a well-timed anecdote about some of his pupils' past shenanigans has her snorting champagne through her nose.

on 2017-07-16 12:28 pm (UTC)
Posted by [personal profile] openidwouldwork
Team Erebor!

on 2017-07-17 01:12 pm (UTC)
gattodoro: (Default)
Posted by [personal profile] gattodoro
Multiple axes? Oh I think we do want to know!

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