Chapter Text
Gideon Nav was picking her teeth in the reflection of your camera lens and yes, this would be the opening shot of Drearburh High’s mini documentary series. Yes, this shot would be framed within the context of the public school system being completely incompetent. And yes, Gideon was the unknowing star of this storyline.
Yes, Gideon. Continue picking your teeth and flicking food debris onto my camera. Your doom is nigh.
Gideon looked at you then, as if she could hear your thoughts, and she sucked her teeth grotesquely. “We’re not rolling, right?”
You shook your head, internally cackling. This was gold. This would get you the Emmy you deserved.
Gideon tilted her chin up, checking her nostrils, and finally stepped back from you. The gym was empty this time of the morning and you had chosen it as a fitting backdrop for her initial interview. She shook out her shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready!”
Yes. Ready like a lamb for a sacrifice. Skewer yourself and roast yourself onto the fire of your shame.
But you didn’t say that. Instead, you wiped your lens and said: “Please introduce yourself.”
She grinned into the camera, charming even, if you were capable of being charmed. If she hadn’t flicked egg white at your camera. “I’m Gideon Nav, PE teacher at Drearburh High!”
Her hair was such a bright and offensive red. It was fucking with the lighting.
“What is your favorite activity to teach?”
“Warm-ups! The crunches, the situps, and push-ups before the students get to have free time.” She looked so happy about such menial tasks that you almost ended the interview there out of spite. But you did have a job to do.
“The Fall Festival is coming up this Friday. You were one of the teachers who actually volunteered to plan it. Why?”
She beamed. “It’s the Fall Festival and spooky season! This is the one event except for Prom where we have a budget and it’s for spooky stuff! Is that even a question?”
“Yes.” You replied drily and glanced over at your aid who was holding your notes. “The first meeting is this evening. What’s on your agenda?”
“I’m in charge of not letting the others ruin the potential fun of the festival with their boring ideas and personalities.”
You drop your camera. “Great. We have what we need.”
Gideon was obviously disappointed. “That’s it? I’m free for another half an hour.”
Perhaps you could get hit by a school bus in that time. That’d make a fine piece. A tragic funeral arc right before the Fall Festival.
“This is just an introductory interview. I’ll be filming the meeting later.”
“Damn, I skipped the gym for this.”
—
You had positioned Harrowhark Nonagesimus next to the plastic skeleton in her classroom and it dwarfed her tiny frame. The crown of her head barely reached its shoulder. The bleached white bones next to the black-clad stick of a woman was artistic genius and you internally patted yourself on the back.
She looked like she did not want to be here (‘here’ meaning alive in this context) and she stood as stiff as the skeleton beside her, a tiny furrow in her brow.
“Please introduce yourself.”
Harrowhark stared directly at you with pitless black eyes. “Harrowhark Nonagesimus.”
“Looking at the camera, please.”
After a long moment of you staring into her eyes and her staring into your soul, her gaze creaked down towards the lens like her eyes were on hinges. “Harrowhark Nonagesimus.”
“Subject?”
She sighed with her entire being. “Anatomy.”
“What’s your favorite part of human anatomy?”
“Bones.” She did not hesitate and there was a miniscule glint of life in those black eyes. She looked at you again then with an assessing once-over like she could see your bones and would do illegal things to them.
How are you a teacher?
You said, “How do you feel about being volunteered to work on the Fall Festival committee?”
“I hate it.”
“Do you hate working here?”
Harrowhark narrowed her eyes at the question, suspicious. “That’s a leading question. I didn’t realize the principal had hired an idiot as a director.”
Ouch.
“I can barely stand talking to you in the first place. I refuse to engage in clickbait journalism based on contrived narratives and threadbare truths.”
Too late.
“You already signed the waiver. You will be filmed.” You held her gaze, even as it skinned you alive, for seconds or minutes. Time was a construct at this point. Finally, you conceded. “Let’s take five.”
Harrow turned and walked out of her own classroom wordlessly.
—
Ianthe Tridentarius was your final morning interview and she sat behind her desk with an expression of perfect disdain on her pale, gaunt face. A horrible school lunch of barbeque-drenched fish and clammy corn sat in front of you; she had ordered some kind of sushi for herself and did not offer to share.
“Introduce yourself to the camera, please. Your name?”
Ianthe smiled a tiny cruel smile as she peered hard into the camera. “What a delicious question. My students call me Ms. Tridentarius. My coworkers call me Ianthe. My lovers call me Daddy.” Her eyes flickered to your face mischievously. “Take your pick.”
From their shifting, the aid was obviously affected by this blatant flirtation. You, however, were immune to the charms of this skeletal woman.
“You do know I’m going to have to cut that out, right?”
Ianthe shrugged, unaffected. “Your problem, not mine.”
You struggled to remain neutral. You figured any sign of irritation would simply encourage her. “Ok. What subject do you teach?”
She smirked. “Chemistry.”
Not wanting to open that Pandora’s Box, you rushed on, “And you volunteered to join the Fall Festival committee?”
“Of course,” she drawled, “My dear Coronabeth and Harry will be there. How could I not?”
“I’m sorry? Harry?” Please god, don’t let there be another interviewee.
“Harrowhark, you simpleton,” she chided with an infuriatingly pleasant smile. “Could you not be bothered to engage in simple research?”
You smile back: curt and furious. “Nicknames were not given to me obviously. Do you talk with your students like this?”
“I suppose not. They aren’t half this daft.”
“Oh dear, am I early for the interview?”
You and Ianthe glanced over to the doorway to find a towering, curvy woman there. Her hip was pressed into the doorway and her grin was dazzling. You easily recognized her as Coronabeth Tridentarius, the twin sister of Ianthe. Somehow.
Ianthe’s eyes narrowed. “Corona, aren’t you supposed to be watching both of our classes?”
“Surely the children can watch themselves for five minutes.” Coronabeth didn’t look at her sister, but was instead eyeing you and the camera with dubious intent from the classroom doorway. It appeared that she was posing an unspoken question of why the camera’s attention hadn’t been switched over to her the moment you noticed her.
She was blonde, extremely tall, and objectively very attractive. The audience would eat her up. A shining teacher with gold stars and white teeth versus the gaggle of repressed misfits that the other teachers were. An unbalanced power dynamic between the siblings could be a plus.
“You can come in,” you said. “I would love to interview you now.”
A strange expression flickered over Ianthe’s face, quick enough that you nearly missed it but the camera surely didn’t.
“Ianthe dear, take a moment and eat your sushi. You look famished.”
Corona was scanning around the room with narrow-eyed precision. She paused, honing in on a particular spot, and walked forward to perch herself elegantly upon a student’s desk. A desk that was highlighted by the sun’s rays through the window and draped across her skin with an ethereal aura.
You couldn’t have chosen a better spot and you almost hated her for that.
“Here’s perfect. Film me right here.”
—
Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus were going to be a joint interview because their free periods were the same and they worked better as a unit anyways. They were second cousins apparently and you could see the vague resemblance that one would only notice if they were told to notice something. You were possibly even imagining it.
This interview took place in Camilla’s office in the library, however, Palamedes sat in the cracking leather chair behind her desk and Camilla stood solemn next him dressed in a depressingly ashen sweater. Palamedes was staring straight ahead, past you, through his spectacles. Neither looked like they wanted to be here, but Palamedes was doing a better job at hiding it.
“Please introduce yourselves, one at a time, looking at the camera.”
“I am Palamedes Sextus. I teach various history classes for the upperclassmen.”
“Camilla Hect. Librarian.”
“How do you feel about working on the Fall Festival this year?”
Palamedes glanced at Camilla who shrugged without speaking. “No opinion.”
You frowned, looking between the two of them. “I just need a soundbite. Can you formulate an opinion?”
Camilla, once more, did not say anything. Palamedes exhaled. “It’s part of our job. What do you want me to say?”
Camilla’s head cocked, just slightly and she stared at you. “What’s the purpose of this?”
“I’m interviewing you for the documentary I’m making about the Fall Festival.”
“To what end?”
You hesitated. “What?”
“To. What. End.”
Palamedes cleared his throat. “I believe that Camilla wishes to know why you decided to make this documentary about this school’s Fall Festival. It seems…an odd choice.”
Oh. These two ask a lot of questions. They weren’t the ones that should be asking questions. That person was you.
“It seems,” Palamedes continued, “that this documentary will only bring bad things for this school. Especially with the people you’ve chosen as your subjects.”
You smiled behind the camera. “Yes, well, your lovely principal should have considered that before signing the contract.”
Palamedes closed his eyes. “John.”
Camilla was impassive. “Of course John.”
Principal drama noted.