- - - THROW YOUR HANDS UP }{ open

[ALFRED CLARK FREEMAN]

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this is the anthem

It was Alfred’s prep period, and he was spending it in his classroom with an array of snack foods and lunch type noms splayed out on his mess of a desk. A desk covered in Play-Doh and Lego and papers and doodles and binders for signing out equipment and stickers for the tapes and CDs to burn assignments on to and toys. Toys for film purposes of course. Under the desk were buckets of similar items and costumes. The room was large and empty but for him, which made him feel rather lonely and neglected. It felt weird to not have stray students lingering behind to work on their videos or other homework or just to go on Youtube and Facebook. He didn’t really care what they were doing as long as it wasn’t porn or anything else that could get him fired. Cause he had bills to pay and loans to pay off and a house to keep and nerdy things to buy. Being an adult was hard work. Too many responsibilities. He wanted to go back to the days when he was just a little crouton. Just a little crouton where all he had to worry about was whether or not the rain would ruin his light saber. The answer? Yes. Yes it would.

A kid had spilled juice on one of the cameras, which he understood was an accident and while it was a huge hassle in his day he had sort of shrugged it off and tried not to let it put a damper on his constant good mood. So there Alfred sat, in a wheelchair that was to be used for steady-cam and not a toy. But he was the teacher, he could use it however he liked. If he wanted to roll around the classroom in it when no one was there he would do as such! The juice covered camera in his hands as he tried to salvage it with cloths. The camera and his hands were incredibly sticky at this point but he just kept trenching on cleaning the camera off and singing the old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles song. And yes, he was actually quite peeved at the rumors of Michael Bay’s Ninja Turtle film. They weren’t teenagers, or mutants, or ninjas or even turtles. Just aliens. Way to ruin his childhood Michael Bay. Way to go.

“Splinter taught them to be ninja teens!”

[/color] he sang in his loud and enthusiastic voice. “Teenage mutant ninja turtles! Leonardo leads! Donatello does machines!”[/color] He continued on, pushing himself off of the wall with his feet and letting himself roll backwards while he cleaned. “Teenage mutant ninja turtles! Raphael is cool but rude! Michaelangelo is a party dude!”[/color] He was trying to sing those parts in voices that resembled the Turtle’s. “Teenage mutant ninja turtles! Teenage mutant ninja turtles! TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES! HEROES IN A HALF SHELL! TURTLE POWER!”[/color] The camera and cloth was dropped in his lap and his arms flew into the air in his excitement. His singing could be heard from the hallway but he clearly wasn’t aware of cared. A plus teaching there Mister Freeman.


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TAG: OPEN, WORDS: 530, WEARING: THIS, NOTES:

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[lewis]

an idealizing sigh escaped the lightly-glossed lips of the philosophy teacher as her fingers traced the yellowing paper of the book that lay on her neatly organized desk, her eyes scanning the words typed perfectly upon the old pages. already on page fifty-seven after a day of heavy reading the night before during the storm, she could hardly put down the book. she simply couldn't, wouldn't, leave the spot on her couch. the passionate love scenes, though overly dramatized within the script to say the least, was quite intense. she had, at one point, found herself fawning over the lead male. he was so handsome, the author even stated as such. a smile had crept onto her face the first time his description was given to her. he was a daring war hero during the first world war, a ginger fellow with a brush of freckles on his nose, large blue eyes and a charming smile. he would make for the perfect husband, she had quickly decided. her finger brushed to the fresh page, her eyes widening. already his significant other had found a new mate! how traumatic that would be to see upon his return! she flushed, her brows knitting together in frustration. clearly, this woman knew little about love and romantic war novels.
it was her preparatory period, where she was supposed to prepare for her new class. most of the better students were in her next class, something she was much too thankful for. she had a hard enough time dealing with the bickering students who loomed in the back, always fighting about the silliest of things. she would have to shush them down to a whisper, sometimes more. other times, she would send them straight to detention without another word, another breath. many have learned their lessons within her classes, while others were still trying to learn. she would sigh heavily, cross her arms over her chest, and wait for them to have finally packed up their things and leave with several swear words mutter beneath their breath before continuing her lesson. she sighed again, her mind reeling the images of the several students she had sent down to the principal's office. she shook her head and straightened her back from her formerly hunched-back, arched to read perfectly with the light without being blinded by the sun shining through the wide windows. she leaned into the leather office chair, her leg crossing the other as she flipped through another page, her lips pursed and her eyes concentrated.
it wasn't until the buffoon down the hallway from her had begun to sing when her concentration was snapped and broken. she looked up and out of her open door, the overall silence of the hallway disturbed by the man's singing of a silly children's program. she rolled her eyes, snorting, and continued through the best she could. she had given up and slammed the book closed without a second glance at the page number. her pushed her chair out a bit and got to her feet. she would ask him to politely tone his voice down, or at least ask if he could close his door. she was not enjoying the sound of his song, certainly. she smoothed the wavy locks of her hair and quickly, fluidly, made her way down the hallway. only a few doors down was his room, where the goofy film teacher taught. she made her way toward the doorframe, leaning on the smooth metal and crossing her arms. she tilted her head a bit, staring down at the mess at his desk. toys and silly children's games. she smirked a bit, feeling the corners of her lips tugging playfully on her face. she remained silent, though she did wish to spoil his fun, she kept her mouth at a pursed smirk.
let him have his fun, she thought.

TAGGED: DIMPLES ▌ WORDS: 645 ▌ OUTFIT : HERE ▌ NOTES: LET THE CUTENESS BEGIN YO.

[ALFRED CLARK FREEMAN]

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this is the anthem

Okay, so maybe Alfred wasn’t the most mature guy in the world. Maybe he wasn’t the most adult-like adult in the world. Maybe he had a lot of growing up to do still. But was that so bad? Was it a crime to be able to embrace his inner child every now and then? Was it a crime to enjoy the little things in life like singing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as a way to distract himself from the fact that he might be out two grand? Everyone had their quirks. Everyone had weird things that they did to keep their mind off of the bad things that happened. Alfred sang old cartoon theme songs in his unusually loud voice. People often asked him if he was hard of hearing, but such wasn’t the case. He was just very enthusiastic about everything. Everything. His booming voice worked well for speeches and presentations, but not so much when he was in an empty classroom. Whatever. He was going to continue enjoying the finer things in life. If people didn’t like it then they could just get out of his house.

Alfred was trying his best not to let the broken camera get to him. He was staying positive about it and telling himself that it would still work. Actually, it probably wouldn’t he was just staying on the bright side of life. Because Eric Idol told him to look on the bright side of death. So there he was singing in a wheelchair with a juice covered camera and damp paper towels. This was generally how he spent his prep periods. Either singing while editing or singing while cleaning up costumes and props. It seemed that no matter how hard Al tried the classroom could always be a huge mess. Or it would look like a huge mess. It was actually pretty organized when you were a frequent visitor to the room. Alfred promised that his apartment was way cleaner, because if he didn’t keep it tidy and neat his action figured would get eaten by his dogs or his cat. Or he would end up breaking stuff whenever he decided he needed to dance. He couldn’t help it, certain songs just had this infectious affect on him. The second the first note rang through his little ears it was as if his body was being filled with the soup of the song and forced his dancing shoes and microphone on him. Song soup.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Alfred wasn’t the most perceptive guy out there. He didn’t really notice things straight away but it was often endearing and adorable how slow he was. So no, he didn’t notice Miss Lewis leaning in his doorway. It wasn’t until he kicked off of the wall and went rolling backwards into a chair when he saw her. But Alfred was distracted by the wheelchair falling backwards and throwing him onto the ground. He was torn between an instinctive reaction to drop the camera and wanting to curl around it, so he sort of did both. He started to bring it into his chest but he ended up letting so as he slammed onto the ground and it rolled a bit before settling on the ground. Alfred, on the other hand, was tangled in a heap of chair, wheelchair and tiny chubby human. Trapped! He started crawling on his hands and knees until the confines fell into each other and he was free to scoop up the camera and shake himself off. “Agnés! Hi! Did you need something?”

[/color] Al picked the two chairs back up and set the camera down on his cluttered desk while he awaited an answer.


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TAG: ANGES, WORDS: 620, WEARING: THIS, NOTES:

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