2 Latin Angry Face

Lyzbeth Heredis

I slip across the halls smoothly. For once in my life, I was right! Room 208 is indeed located at the end of this hall. That bike ride took a lot on me. I can still the shortness of my breath with every step I take. I look into my watch, and maybe 'tis not so bad. I'm only 15 minutes late.

So, this is it. A new beginning under a normal life (I think). Hesitantly, I knock on the door. It did not take that long before someone would open the wooden sliding door for me. Everyone is looking at me. It was as if I am a royalty being presented before my court. I cannot help but freeze like a statue. Their mocking cheers scream as if they would eat me whole. Right, I know it was wrong to be late in this school. A normal Scirese is particular about time. This is just humiliating that I can't even move an inch from my place.

Then, there is my instructor. He looks at me with much dismay. I can tell from the subtle shaking of his head he gives. He sits on his chair while scrutinizing me. Right, I know. This is officially the worst morning I ever had.

"Young lady, come in," he says with a thick accent that I cannot tell.

He's not a Scirese, that's for sure. A Scirese accent would be more firm and affirmative, for they are so precise with everything. A Cassidan accent would be calmer and gentle, like my mother's. His is just different. I can't even describe it. From the looks of him, he is quite the unusual figure.

The lines on his face speaks that he is in his mid-life. I can see that through his mahogany hair, a fine streak of gray is concealed. His get-up is also odd. Why would he wear a black suit with maroon accents? Black is the color of mourning for Scire. He does not even consider the norms of a Scirese. The only thing that's missing is a sign board that says "I am not a Scirese".

Then, I realize, I'm still standing outside. Why have I not moved? I only noticed that some boy is already guiding me in. He closed the door behind me and carefully pushed me to my inscrutable instructor. I can feel my humiliation worsen by the minute. As a respect, I give him a short bow.

"Sir, I am deeply sorry for my tardiness," I say as I hang my head in shame.

"What's your name?" he asks bluntly.

However much I try to be respectful, my embarrassment still gets to me. I can't look him in the eye. "Lyzbeth Heredis, sir."

"From?"

"Simulare Nature School, sir."

'Tis only a fake name. 'Tis not even real. Of course, no one must know where I come from. Even the slightest hint of who I really am will kill me.

"Would it kill you to look me in the eye, young lady?" he says through gritted teeth. "I am talking to you."

He is stern. That is perfectly understandable. I don't want to make matters worse anymore. I try my best to look up into his eyes. As I look into him, I try my best to see through him. What is he? He's not a Scirese or a Cassidan for sure. In any case, he does not seem to like this at all. He quickly breaks the gaze and looks at a vacant seat near the window.

"Right, sit near that window. 'Tis the only seat available. Next time, try to wake up early. New student or not, I will not let you come into my class if you are late again. You can sit outside for all I care, but since 'tis your first day here, I believe I can make a consideration."

Silently, I follow his orders and take the seat. I look outside and somehow, it gives me a little peace. The trees beside me kind of remind me of Cassida, and that takes me back to the good memories I had of that place. I place my bag beneath the table, and finally, focus on that grouchy instructor.

"For the sake of the new girl, let me introduce myself once more," the cold man says calmly. "My name is Ruairi Magister and I shall teach you the language of Latin, the only language from the old world still surviving today and the only language in common to the Five Kingdoms."

He is quite ready to teach on his first day. The man is already writing some stuff on that clear board. Of course, technology allows the mere use of a stick to mark the board, enough for the whole class to see. As I take my notebook out, I feel conscious about this. Everyone is writing using some sort of photographic device. They need only use it to capture every single detail of the writings of Sir Magister. It already turns the writings into transcripts on a paper. That is seriously cool, but I prefer the old-fashioned way of writing – with my hands.

As I write the things on the board, I feel a paper reach my desk. It came from the side. I look beside me and I can see that it is only my kindly classmate. He has this copper brass hair with eyes the color of amber. Quite charming, I must say, but I just met him. I unveil the note, and somehow, this made my day a little bit better.

"Don't worry about the timely old man. He won't bite."

This is unusual, in a good way. Even though Scire is called "The Land of Science and Technology", there is still one boy that writes the normal way. Also, he is quite kind to do so too and hand me a comforting note. I uncap my blue metallic pen and write on the bottom of his writings.

"Thanks. I caused quite a scene. Waking up early is not exactly my thing. What's your name?"

The hard-nosed instructor is still distracted. Good. I quietly pass the note to the boy and anxiously wait for his reply. Maybe, he will be my first friend around here. Soon enough, the paper is returned.

"Romain. Quite easy to remember, I suppose. I hope we had not frightened you to death earlier."

This just makes me smile. As I write my reply, something odd is happening. I cannot tell whether my own mind is reading it with a narrator on my head or. . . shoot! 'Tis worse. I look up and see the source of the voice. It had to be him. It had to be the stern instructor that had to prick his way into our conversation. Alright, how many strikes have I already done? Did I do two already? The first one was when I was late. The second one is when I don't look up when I talk to him. Alright, 'tis three. This is my third strike. This is just bad. I can already feel the chills that reach my spine as I see him smugly smile.

"Surprised to see me, I see," Sir Magister says. "Again, I will forgive you today. 'Tis your first day." In one swift move, he takes the note out of my fingers, folds it into eights, and keeps it in his coat pocket. Through the stick he's holding, he points to Romain, who so innocently tries to play kindness. "As for you, Mr. Amasio, I expect more from you. I believe you can cause no such trouble, being a boy that came from a long line of scholars."

Well, that was over. He just turned his back to his clear board. I suppose 'tis called mirroring board, due to the fact that the marks he makes are mirrored through the board. Anyway, I look into Romain and we simply exchange a short chuckle. Seriously, he needs to lighten up. 'Tis a first day. It needs to be calm and fun. He focuses way too much on life and studies that he wants to teach right away.