Chapter Text
Arthur Matthews didn't ask for much in his life time, but surely peace and quiet was a pardon for his headache and poor paycheck. Blackwater highschool was known as a rowdy school with its rowdy students as do most schools within a fifty mile radius, but today did the screaming sound more violent than usual. Apparently on the school board that was considered code red, but to Arthur this was a average Wednesday afternoon with a problem he so desperately didn't want to deal with.
The screaming welcomed chanting, and then on late arrival came crashing of glass. An uproar announced itself as well.
Sighing a small pray for his sanity, Arthur drew in his eyebrows and walked out of the art classroom. The scene before him was like a live sparton arena, a raving mass of highschoolers gathered around the stairs where two students fought with their lives, cursing and punching with more cursing if Miss Grimshaw was dead, surely she would turn in her grave. She would be more shocked to see the trophy cabinet tipped over on its side.
Some poor teacher tried to break it up, a substitute by the looks of it, the young man stumbled on the sidelines calling out but to no avail against the howling mess, - pure relief whispered in his eyes when he saw Arthur charging through. Like a sturdy vessel he parted the sea of chants and grabbed the two blooded teens. One by the shirt collar and the other by his hoodie. The two fought in the air -kicking and screaming as Arthur calmly walked down the hallway. Briefly he turned to his side and cast cold blues to the troubled teacher scrambling around the smashed trophy cabinet.
"Thank you Mr. Mason for your efforts." With that said he strode a calm a pace towards the principal's office. On the way there the boys continued their banter, Arthur found it a little hard trying to still his right hand as a boy thrashed - attempting to punch the dead weight he held in his left hand.
"Will you quit it! Its tiring having to haul ye' let a lone hear ye screeching!" Arthur ended up yelling. His headache started to hurt more today and these boys certainly didn't make it any better. Miss Grimshaw would be happy to ram the code of conduct at them. A hard lesson he too had to endure, the one he knew all too well.
"He started it!"
"Sure I did Indian!"
"What did you call me!?"
With the calmest voice he could muster Arthur alleged,
"Yadder yadder yadder- I've heard this all before. I don't care who started it. In the end ye both look stupid red and blue."
Their banter seemed to soften, but only for a little while or not by much. Miss Grimshaw's door was closed, but Arthur knew that tight lipped woman was waiting for them. He could feel his hairs stand, her very nature was more scarier than the horror movies he forced John to watch.
"Now ye sit here and cool off Miss Grimshaw will bew'tcha shortly."
If on cue, her shrill voice rang out like a church bell.
"Mr Enapay and Mr Walker get in my office this instant!"
The two boys only grimace, their bruised faces contorted not only from the physical pain but as well as for their prepared ears, they walked at an unbelievably slow pace through her door leaving a smiling Arthur in the hallway.
Arthur hissed hiding his own discontempt those boys weren't too far off from where he stood and from where he sat in the very chairs they sat on today he couldn't help but smile at the dumb memories.
"Ye still a fool." He laughs to himself. Click click click click his boots echoed the hallways, making him realize the absense of learners and the need for new boots. The muffled shrill of Miss Grimshaw still rang out even when he neared his classroom.
Scratch scratch scribble scribble
Half a face of an animal appeared in Arthur's sketchbook. Lines drawn faintly , intwind to create a bold shadow in places where an imagined light can't reach. Finally some peace and quiet, just for a moment before he would have to hear the busy whizz and buzz of his family when he got to the ranch.
He hoped Javier didn't forget to pick him up this time.
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The night is blue, reminiscing on the sun that gave farewell to the sky. Kindly opening its windows to its distant cousins who swim and wink though they are dim,a long time ago Arthur wondered when they were brighter, maybe happier. As if stars could feel such things. Maybe he too can feel the same.
A nudge from a velvet muzzle interrupted further thoughts, he chuckled at the impatient mare. Red liked her stable as much as she liked her sugar cubes from what Arthur gathered the red chestnut liked to live simple and she certainly did not like to wait on people. After some assurances and some spare suger cubes as an apology Arthur left a happy Red in her stables. She burred and let her head rest over the stable door.
There was blanketed murmur behind Arthur. Opposite the stables from where he stood, a taller building stood prouder, the stables where the other horses rested, a John and an Abigail bicker like starved hens.
"-He almost scammed us I tell ye- Abigail remember!"
"That was 6 in the morning I'm not going to remember shit John." Abigail leant her right shoulder on the door frame. Her voice dragged on as if it took great effort to pour the words out her mouth.
"Gasp, language!"
"Like you know any better!"
"Quiet please!"
Arthur yelled, it was strange how many times he had to do that, he guessed being a teacher had its vices at school and at the ranch.
"Sometimes I wonder if Jack is not the only child here. The way you two yamer on."
Taking a pitch fork by the hanging rack Arthur joined his brother in raking out soiled hay. A moment of silence if not counted by the occasional scrap and toss of hay being stacked in one corner of the stable. Abigail left them to work, the conversation with her husband and long hours of the day pulled on her eyes. It was obvious she hadn't had decent sleep. Not with a one year old Jack crying the nights away. Arthur felt a tinge of guilt, he could help more, he will find time.
"It's 'talk'. Not yammer." John quiped, an easy grin creeping under loose bandages. Ever since John fished out a lick of confidence at age of 15 that fire had never faltered, even when he almost died in late January by a pack of wolves. He still looked stupid, unruly grinning like a greasy racoon with bandages.
"I did not fail English - unlike you." Arthur remarked rakng the last of the soiled hay and tipping it above his brother's head. John wailed in fright, quickly racking the hay nearest to him and did the same. They brawled like children, giggling as more hay plastered on themselves rather than the desired pile in the corner.
"Absolute children, am I right Bes?" An older voice stopped the very mature fight. Arthur and John looked up to see Hosea leaning on his side, much the same like Abigail before she left.
"That they are." Bessie chuckled. The old woman struck her usual one hand on hip pose. Her 'Cool hand Luke' hat hung over her eyes, no doubt looking at the two idiots she calls sons. Once the boys were on their feet and not clawing at eachother with hay- did she lift her hat a little higher so she can see them properly.
"If ye done bickering.. finish mucking out the hay. Arthur go find your brother new bandages. "
"Yes ma'am"
Once his brother was bandaged and off to his sleeping quarters and to an already sleeping Abigail, did Arthur relax in the lounge with his parents.
His parents. it's odd now saying it. It's been what? 10 years since Hosea granted him the adoption papers. A big surprise on his 18th birthday, would he even say the biggest he had ever received. Changing his last name was like ripping an old bandaid that irritated him more than cover all that shame. One less thing to worry about than have documented relation to that foul son of a bitch in prison.
"I just can't believe it pa, he is dead." Arthur murmurs under his breath. Reading the blurb of Lyle Morgan's death on the front cover of Hosea's newspaper. He blinked twice just to be sure. That son of a bitch was truly dead. Died to strangulation by a cell-mate he read on.
"Well you better believe it. It's on paper!" Hosea exclaimed, but regretted quickly with his hands to his mouth.
"I know I just..." didn't picture my life without him.
"I know son it's a lot to take in. Try not sleep on it, we both have work tomorrow." Hosea patted his son's shoulder for little reassurance before he parted to his own bedroom.
"Oh don't remind me." Arthur laughed.
"Goodnight Arthur."
"Goodnight pa."
Maybe this was a sign things were going to be fine.