Chapter Text
“Oi. What do ya mean we have a new teacher comin’?” Jamison asked incredulously, his eyebrows furrowed and leaning forward in his seat. He spared a ferrety glance around at the other teachers, looking for some form of confirmation. “What happened to the last bloke that were ‘ere? He jump ship or somethin’?”
Torbjorn, otherwise known as Mr. Lindholm, otherwise known as head of the Art Department of Overwatch High School, let out a deep sigh of resignation as he stood up in the middle of a semicircle of chairs. Him and the other teachers in this particular back-to-school meeting comprised of all the faculty that spear-headed the Art Department. It was already quiet in the too air-conditioned orchestra room they were occupying, but the expectant gazes of his coworkers made the very atmosphere around him heavy.
Tentatively, Torbjorn ran a calloused hand over his face and let out another sigh. “Jack made a deal with Vishkar, saying something about how the school ‘needed the upgrades’ and that they would help in flipping the bill if we would allow one of their own have a teaching position here.”
Brigitte didn’t miss a beat. “Wait wait wait… Did you just say Vishkar?” The young woman, setting her espresso on a nearby table, raised an eyebrow as she reclined back into her chair, arms crossed. “As in Vishkar the animation studio? What do they want with us? We mainly focus on more traditional art and photography here.”
“That’s what I said,” Torbjorn harrumphed, throwing an arm in frustration as he began to pace back and forth. “But it doesn’t matter. Vishkar told Morrison that the best way for students to get into prestigious art schools is for them to have experience in ‘various forms of art’,” he explained, using exaggerated air quotes. “Well, it would seem that now includes digital art…” There was a pause as the frustration in Torbjorn’s face steadily began to drain. “… But, if that’s what’s best for the students, then I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Torbjorn looked up solemnly from his shoes to the teachers gathered around him. The Art Department wasn’t big, but it consisted of some of the best professionals in their crafts.
Mako Rutledge taught Painting and Art History. The colossal New Zealander was intimidating to say the least, but the man paradoxically knew how to handle a paintbrush comparable to the Queen handling her oldest and most prized teacup. As a fellow of few words, his history lessons are brief but to the point. He would occasionally include random fascinating facts and tidbits here and there for the benefit of his class, hoping his students will enjoy them.
Jamison Fawkes taught both Beginning Art and, oddly enough, Advanced Drawing. Despite hailing from Australia’s harsh Outback, the eccentric man had on him a pair of astonishingly steady hands that had earned him many accolades for his work and, most impressively of all, landed him on the monetary receiving end of various successful auctions. He was, at least within the halls of Overwatch High, well known for his talent in drawing portraits when he wasn’t busy pulling up speed drawings on YouTube to strike inspiration within his students.
Torbjorn’s eldest daughter Brigitte Lindholm taught both Photography and Journalism. Believing that the confines of a classroom was the antithesis towards her curriculum, a great many of her classes were held outside on various spots around the school’s campus. The rare times she held classes indoors were either due to unfavorable weather or if the students had to take a standardized test. Whenever that happened, she would usually occupy herself by Photoshopping her students’ attendance pictures together on the projector for all to see. Then, whenever she so much as heard a snicker, she would playfully scold the offending party for not focusing on their assigned task.
And then there was Torbjorn Lindholm himself, who taught both Ceramics and Clay Work. The seasoned Swedish man had been teaching the class since the doors to Overwatch High School first opened and had no plans of retiring any time soon. Much to the amusement of some of the faculty, the stout man carried around the loud, booming voice of the Norse God of Thunder. But, whenever the man was throwing (shaping) clay on the potter’s wheel, his thick, meaty fingers were gentler than the soft beat of a butterfly’s wing. The boisterous man took immense pride in his work and moved accordingly. No soul but he is allowed near the kiln because, in his own words, he was “the only one that can handle the heat”.
“I ‘pose they gonna be takin’ the room between Brig an’ me, yeah?” Jamison asked, teetering back and forth on the back legs of his own seat. “That’s were what’s his nuts plopped himself last year.”
“Ay,” Torbjorn answered, methodically stroking his luxuriously braided beard. “On the plus side, with her curriculum focusing on digital art, we can finally put that computer room in the back to some good use. Speaking of which,” he added as a matter of fact, his gaze drifting upwards towards the ceiling in thoughtfulness, “I should probably give that room a good dusting out before-”
“HER?!” Jamison and Brigitte spoke at once, both simultaneously going rigid in their seats with the former nearly losing his balance.
Torbjorn tensed at the sudden outburst and turned to give the pair a furrowed brow. His suspicious, narrowed eyes darted back and forth between the two momentarily before he answered. “… Ayyyy? Is that going to be a problem?”
Jamison adjusted his posture from where he was lent, hoisting himself all the way forward in his chair after resituating himself. “Nah mate,” he answered, a shrug to his shoulders. “I guess I kinda just got so used t’Brig bein’ the only Sheila ‘round ‘ere is all... Well, least ‘ere in the Art Department, that is…”
Mako Rutledge, who had been silent up until this point as he read a book while lounging in the Music teacher’s leather armchair, turned towards Jamison and let out a gruff chuckle. “Good save, ya prat. Was ‘bout t’tell Nan, Angela, Zarya an’ Mei ya didn’t count ‘em as birds,” he chuckled, before idly flipping a page.
Brigitte looked over at her father with a sparkle in her eyes whilst Jamison threw a middle finger towards his friend. “Another woman… Papa, Vishkar is male dominated, as most animation studios are these days.” The young woman said this with a faint sneer on her face and rolled her eyes. Then, as quickly as the downcast look appeared, it was replaced with a look of pure joy and excitement. “She must be extremely talented! Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
Jamison dug his peg leg into the carpet to make his sixth circular indent in a row. “I guess… Just hopin’ she ain’t gonna end up bein’ a snob or somethin’. I feel like everyone from those fancy bloody studios are, ya know? All up ‘em selves an’ everythin’, the lotta ‘em...”
“Ay," Torbjorn agreed, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think I could handle that on top of all these new developments. Too many waves can wreck the sturdiest of boats, after all.”
“So,” Mako began, calmly setting his book down on his armchair’s arm rest, “do we have any idea when this mystery woman is gonna make an appearance?”
Torbjorn visibly racked his brain before answering. “I believe Jack said Vishkar would be sending a team to drop off her necessary software a week before school starts,” he began measuredly, making sure he was remembering correctly. “ Apparently, she needs some of the newest computer hardware for her teaching. Organizing it and what not. I think Jack also said they’re flying her out from India. Apparently she’s working on a project right now, so we won’t meet her until...” Torbjorn paused to do some quick math in his head. “…the day before the first day of school, perhaps...”
“Strewth,” Jamison whistled, rubbing underneath his chin. “Cuttin’ it kinda close there, aren’t they?”
Torbjorn shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t up to me. Jack agreed to Vishkar’s terms, so it was good enough for him, if nothing else.”
“Hmmmmmm. That IS cutting it rather close,” Brigitte said uncertainly, echoing Jamison. “All it would take is one delayed flight, and she could very well miss the first day of school. That wouldn’t look good on her, would it?”
Again, Torbjorn merely shrugged. “I’m sure Jack knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s neck-deep in talks with them, being kept up-to-date with everything that happens… Let’s just focus on our own classes until then, yeah?”
Jamison rolled his eyes at Brigitte. “Oh please. If this woman is a good as ya all are paintin’ ‘er t’be, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes ‘ere on a Vishkar-owned private jet…” An erratic cackle suddenly emanated from the Australian’s throat before he clapped his hands together. “A private jet in the staff’s parking spaces. Now THAT’S somethin’ I’d love t’see!”