#ANYWAYS this is temporary! because i want to make my own stickers eventually!

[theunaccomplishedwriter]

Breaking the Surface: Chapter 2 - The Suggestion

If you want to read the first chapter, go see it on my Fanfiction.net account here or ao3 account here. It’s also here on tumblr so so search Breaking the Surface on my tags and you’ll find it.

The uncaring clock on the wall ticked on, the seconds passing by unnoticed as Lance’s eyes remained glued to the closed door. His body remained still, his chest taking in shallow breaths to minimise movement, his fur and quills remaining quite static, his mouth unchanged from its thin line of disappointment. It was if some other had pressed the pause button on Lance in this very moment, just to take exquisite pleasure in watching this moment pan out. Only the bowl of cereal, gently resting in his paws, that gave evidence that time was indeed still playing on, with it gradually losing all its consistency and transforming from a passable nutritious meal into a wretched gelatinous paste.

It was only when his phone let out a shrill ping that Lance managed to shake himself from his reverie. Not bothering to check his phone immediately, already guessing it came from his disappointed girlfriend, Lance looked down at the unappetising wet mass he was still holding in his paws. Sighing slightly, Lance slowly got up before mechanically spooning the contents into the bin, convincing himself that he didn’t really feel like eating that morning anyway.

Turning back to the empty flat, Lance took in the familiar scene. Little had changed from when he first became a permanent lodger. A small purple sofa with assorted cushions, now sagging slightly from the continuous slobbing sessions Lance had become accustomed to in his semi-professional unemployment. The subdued pink walls, pink shelves, pink picture frames, reminders of Becky’s status of the designer of the space he existed in. The small window hung high upon the wall that used to let in rays of warmth and promise from those brief summer moments of peace, now looking glum with cobwebs and specks of rain masking its former glory. Lance’s light blue electric guitar resting in the corner of the room, dust coating its body, stickers peeling off.

Lance groaned lightly.? Looking over the room before him, what was truly his? What mark had he left there, apart from where he hunkered down on the sofa for most the day? A few boxes of his belongings and a guitar that hadn’t been touched in months. I am an embarrassment, aren’t I? Lance’s inner voice chided.

Before the guilt could took root, his stomach derailed his thoughts, rumbling like an imminent earthquake. Patting his gut, Lance quickly made himself another bowl of cereals, even splurging out on some blueberries on top because, as Lance thought; Fuck it. If I’m gonna pity myself I’m gonna do it with a half decent breakfast.

Robotically shovelling the sweet nourishment down his gullet, Lance idly checked his phone for the text. He didn’t bother unlocking the phone. The first lines were a reminder for him to start looking for work. He knew the rest would be passive aggressive comments on his layabout ways of late. He shoved the phone back in his pocket, knowing Becky would be getting annoyed that she couldn’t see the delivered change to read on her phone, with fellow commuters probably sneaking glances at this silently seething porcupine.

After chucking the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, with Lance not wanting to press his luck too much, he plonked himself down on the sofa. Fishing his phone out of his pocket again, Lance begrudgingly booted up the internet and quickly typed local jobs in my area, a phrase that he dreaded typing even as a kid in those endlessly pointless careers advise sessions.

Hitting the search button, numerous sites popped up, all advertising various jobs of medium skill level all the way down to if you have eyes and possibly at least one functioning limb, you can do this job. Cleaning jobs, admin jobs, sales jobs, call centre jobs, trainees, apprentices, managers, the whole kit and caboodle. The list just kept going. Reams and reams of jobs that barely held any flicker of excitement for Lance.

After getting some sticky notes to jot down jobs that looked potentially interesting or at least easy to do, Lance poured through the requirements, putting them into to ring or send email pile or make attempt to be like Michael Jordan and dunk it in the bin from the sofa pile. By the end of it all, Lance had a small pile of jobs remaining, the others scrunched up and strewn around the bin in the corner, with only one managing to hit its target.

Placing the possibles in front of him, he decided to go with the ones that didn’t need to send an email off first, pushing the admin job off in the corner for a moment. Picking up the one nearest to him, a bar job at The Stable, Lance whipped his phone back out of his pocket and quickly dialled the number, hoping it wasn’t too early for the bar to be open, seeing it was only just gone 10:30 by that point.

He knew The Stable. It was one of the few jobs Lance had done. Granted he was 19 when he started but a fake ID, an unobservant manager, his deep voice, and the fact he’d briefly worked in a bar before moving managed to bag him the job. He’d only just moved to the city and had unexpectedly gotten together with Ash. Everything had moved so quickly with her and, after a few months, they were already moving in together and planning their career as rock stars in between Lance giving Ash guitar lessons. Suffice to say, the pocket change he’d been earning from busking around town was not enough, so swindling that bare job was the answer to the teenage porcupine’s problems.

Despite its temporary nature, it was one of the few jobs he’d done between dry stints in gigging that he enjoyed. He knew how to mix drinks, feign interest in the punters, laugh at terrible jokes convincingly, and could give a threatening tone to animals stepping out of line before the bouncers kindly and forcefully asked them to leave. He didn’t get too close to the animals working there though. Others went out after work, chatted shit and whatnot. Lance chatted along with them during work but, once his shift was over, he was out the door and going making his way to his next gig. He didn’t have time for other people. He was destined for stardom. Others just got in his way.

Thinking back on it though, there was one customer that he could probably call his friend. He was a very well-spoken, very affable, very well dressed, and at times very pissed, hedgehog bachelor in the later stages of middle age called Gregory. He liked Gregory from the off when, after serving him his first drink, he looked him in the eye and, with his most charming voice, pronounced him a ‘scholar and a gentleman’. Lance couldn’t help but laugh. That’s the kind of guy Gregory was, polite to a fault.

Though he wasn’t without his little foibles, like any other animal. After a few occasions, Lance twigged that Gregory would ask for the drinks on the highest shelves on purpose, so while Lance was perched on the step ladder and stretching up to whatever bottle he wanted that day, he’d be unabashedly staring at his ass, his eyes showing the pleasure while his face maintaining his poker face. Lance didn’t care though. Lance even defended Gregory’s leering when some other customer came over to accost him of his perceived poor behaviour. He never made lewd comments and knew Lance had a girlfriend, even asking after her every so often with genuine interest. He was interested din his musical aspirations and always listened when he spoke, not just nodding along politely, but took an active interest. He cared about Lance and, thinking on it, Lance cared about the guy too. He was sweet in his own way.

In the months that he worked there, Lance got to know Gregory very well. Probably better than anyone else in the entire bar. Customers and staff knew who he was, but barely spoke to him whenever Lance wasn’t available to serve him. It was just business as usual for them and, in fairness, Gregory didn’t open up as much with others. It was only when Lance hove into view that he became animated, the light returning in his eyes.

Talking with Gregory, he learnt a lot about the guy. Despite being mistaken for a bar prop, he was actually a hot shot banker, someone high up in management that didn’t need to be in the office all the time. ‘Mainly stuff on the phone, you know the type, morons really’ Gregory had said to him, Lance finding his blunt assessment of his entire profession amusing. He lived alone in his small flat that he had shared with Noel. He had shown him a picture of them in their younger years. It was a bit faded but they were there, arms in arm, smiling as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

He met Noel when he took his car to be fixed at his garage. Some tosspot, as he so eloquently put it, had rear-ended him while he was waiting at the lights. The other driver wasn’t looking, apparently rubbernecking since some shapely cheetah was walking by and, while the horny guy was taking in her legs, his car decided to take a very close look at the back of Gregory’s car at some speed. The insurance was paying but, as Gregory said, it was still a ‘major inconvenience of the highest order’. That was something else Lance liked about Noel, even when absolutely steaming, he never swore. Not that he was against it or anything. In fact, he whole heartedly approved of the practice. He just reasoned that, because of the way he spoke, it never sounded right when it came out. After vain attempts at mastering the art in his youth, Gregory had eventually forsworn the practice. Still, he laughed the loudest when Lance loudly whispered fuck when he dropped a tray of glasses on his first day.

But turning up to the garage, Gregory had not been best pleased, stomping up and down demanding someone see to his car this instant. He’d been a bit more uptight then, but he was a banker after all, he could afford to be uptight. But while Gregory had been getting his quills in a knot, Noel had appeared behind him.

“Hey pincushion! Mind shutting your hole so I can do my job?”

Naturally, Gregory had been absolutely incensed. He had spun on heel with a face that Noel had told him later was about as dark as the deepest crevice of the ocean. No-one spoke to him like that, especially not some jumped up mechanic who probably didn’t even make a tenth of what he earned.

But then he saw him.

This slightly older, taller, and much more muscular, porcupine standing before him. Lance had seen the look in Gregory’s eyes just remembering that moment and, although the picture was taken a few years after that, he could tell why he’d been instantly smitten. The guy was gorgeous. He could have been a male model if he wanted to. Gregory said he could have been a few other things as well but only learned that later on.

All the time that Noel was examining the car, checking what he’d have to do and pricing everything up, Gregory had been sneaking long and not exactly wholesome glances at him. His muscular thighs, his deep chestnut eyes, his broad chest. And when he bent down to check something on the car, Gregory felt he was about to pass out then and there with the view of his exquisite derriere.

Managing to compose himself after the show, Gregory nodded through Noel’s summing up of the damage and being handed all the documents and a business card in case he needed their services again, all the while trying not to lose himself in his elegant eyes. Upon being handed the courtesy car keys, Gregory mumbled a near incoherent thank you, before heading straight to the car to allow himself to cool down in seclusion before driving back home.

He didn’t really recall the journey home, but remembered later looking through the bills he’d have to inform the insurance company about when the business card plopped down on his hardwood kitchen table. Picking it up, it was just the standard business card but, flipping it over as you do, Gregory had gone completely crimson.

It was at this point that Gregory had reached into his jacket’s interior pocket and pulled out a frayed and slightly torn business card and handed it almost reverently to Lance. The writing was still as clear as day though.

Hey Pincushion,

Sorry about all that back there. You’ve got to keep up appearances, you know? I’d like to make it up to you though, are you free to get a drink sometime? Call me sometime.

Noel

Gregory had been speechless. The note and number written in such neat and delicate script, a far cry from what he thought capable from the man’s man that appeared before him. But it was the little note under his phone number that nearly gave him a nose bleed.

P.S: Glad you enjoyed the show.

Chuckling, Lance handing the card back before Gregory slipped it carefully back into his pocket, patting it gently as if to remind him of its presence.

He called him straight away, to hell with the time and the three-day rule. Noel had picked up immediately. Apparently, Noel had been just as flustered as Gregory. Though he definitely hid it better on their meeting, but he was already smitten with the young, cute looking hedgehog. He’d been constantly checking his phone and had nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw it ringing.

Noel was full of surprises. For a rough and ready mechanic with the mouth to rival a sailor in public, he was actually an incredibly shy guy in private. He read a lot, his small flat being strewn with books. Novels, anthologies, textbooks, even dictionaries. It was if it was his own private library. But poetry was Noel’s clear love. Heaney, Byron, Bysshe Shelley, Plath, Larkin, Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Ted Hughes, Betjeman, Angelou, Rossetti, all these names and more crammed into every nook and cranny. He devoured these books and had a wonderful way with words, spinning the most beautiful yarns in quiet, contemplative, melancholy moments and uproarious moment of ecstasy.

Gregory drained his drink before laughing. ‘It was just a shame all that literary talent couldn’t translate into the kitchen! I’ve never known someone to be able to burn so much so quickly!’

Their lives slotted together so quickly and happened so vividly. It was as it were taken directly out of one of Noel’s many novels. The discrete dates, snuggling up to each other while watching a film, their first kiss, their first time, their many times, their home together, their arguments and make-ups, their first kiss in public, their first nasty reaction, their outing, their admittance, their pride in their admittance, their family dramas, their lost friends, their new friends, their familial bonds mended, their familial bonds never repaired, their crying nights, their gentle moments, their lives together. It was a rollercoaster, complete with ups, downs, corkscrews and a lot of screaming, of both joy and sadness, but Gregory wouldn’t have missed a moment of it. You could see it in his eyes.

After seven months, some of the staff were getting sick of Lance’s cold attitude towards them, as well as the fact he was decent at the job and got a lot of tips, which only galvanised the staff against him. They started questioning his already flimsy excuses for his dodgy looking ID so Lance decided to bail, already having a steady line of gigs lined up and Ash now a competent guitarist, they were set to take the world by storm with him in the leading role.

It was on Lance’s last shift that Gregory decided reveal how Noel died. It was just a routine hospital check when they found out. He had lung cancer. With all the scares of AIDS and scaremongering about gay sex and everything that they had experienced when they were going out, this took them both for a loop. It was scary but just so mundane compared to what could have been. They were confident Noel would be fine. Noel was still as healthy as ever. He was still as fit as he was when they first met all those years ago. His smiled had reassured Gregory. Everything would be alright.

He died eight months later. They did everything the doctors said. Took every course of treatment. Took every pill. Followed every procedure. But the cancer just didn’t go. He was only 44.

He went at 16:43, 18th of April 2001. Gregory’s watch was permanently stopped on that time, date and year. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. The watch was a little big on him, the strap hanging a bit loose on his wrist. It must have been Noel’s. Lance never asked though. It didn’t feel right to.

Gregory looked about ready to bawl, his eyes full to the brim with tears that refused to burst the banks of his eyelids. He simply took Lance’s paw in his own and quietly whimpered. The bar wasn’t that busy that night but still a few faces looked over to this near weeping middle aged hedgehog holding the hand of this young porcupine. Some gave looks of sympathy, others disgust, other gave looks that suggested they just wanted it to be over so Lance could serve them drinks. Lance only noticed this on the periphery of his conscious mind, his focus being on quietly heartbroken hedgehog in front of him.

Composing himself, Gregory wiped his eyes with his free paw and gave Lance a ready, warm smile, trying to mask the hurt clear in his eyes. Looking down at his paw still entangled with Lance’s, Gregory said that Lance had felt like Gregory. He reminded him of him. Not one some physical level or anything like that, but his energy. Gregory said that Lance had a similar whatever attitude to others, but on the inside a deeper, more intimate, more fragile animal on the interior. Lance had fobbed him off with some answer he didn’t really recall, but he could see from Gregory’s smirk that he didn’t buy it for one second.

Before he withdrew his hand from his, Gregory, his gaze down, words spoken in a low tone, as if not really for Lance to hear, recalled the last time he saw Noel. He looked barely like the cocky mammal Gregory remembered. He was drained of colour, his eyes barely containing that mischievous spark, the gauge on his life almost reading empty. But that aura, that energy remained as strong as ever. He remembered holding Noel’s hand like he was holding Lance’s for a while.

They didn’t speak, the sound of their breathing being the only soundtrack necessary. They had had the talk before. For all his love of words, Noel hated the idea of trying to say something profound for last words. He said it was just an excuse to try and show you were still witty and all bravado when, in reality, you’re probably scared shitless and you just want someone to be there for you and not make a fuss about it all. He wanted Gregory there. Just to be there. No sobbing, no empty promises, no goodbyes. Just to be there so it wouldn’t be scary when it happened. It was nice like that. They just held hands and waited. He saw him close his eyes. A smile lingered on his lips.

Lance slowly retracted his paw, apologised for leaving, and went about the rest of his shift. Before clocking out for the final time, he paused, shoved some money in the till before pouring the largest drink of whiskey that straddled the line of legality to serve in one glass. Gregory smiled when he gave it to him, free of charge and, as he left in his normal clothes, turned back as Gregory raised a glass to him, saluting his sweet soundboard with a cute rear. He missed Gregory sometimes. He wondered if he was still there, propping up the bar and sneaking glances at another rodent’s backside. He chuckled at that.

Lance looked back down at the number and phone in his paws, before resolving to dial the number.

After a few rings, a chirpy voice suddenly appeared down the line.

“Hello, this is The Stable! How can I help you today?”

“Erm, hey. I’m er, calling about the bar staff job. Is that erm, is it still going?” Lance enquired, a slight hesitance seeping through.

“Oh yeah!” The voice came back. “Yeah, that’s still going! Are you interested in applying?”

“Yeah, of course!” Lancer replied, his confidence coming back.

“Oh fantastic! We’ve been getting slammed recently and we getting staff has been an absolute nightmare so we could really use some new guys! Have you got any experience by the way?”

“Yeah, I’ve worked in a couple of bars. Actually, worked at The Stable before.” Lance admitted.

“Oh, a veteran! Exactly what we need! It’ll make the training quicker at least!” the voice laughed, making Lance chuckle a bit as well.

“When can you start by the way? We’ll get some training on a quieter day but we really need animals in here as soon as really. Is tomorrow good for you?”

Lance sat bolt upright. No way it’s this easy Lance thought. A job starting tomorrow? FUCKING! A! A smirk formed on his face. It may not be a real estate or anything fancy, but he couldn’t wait to rub it in Becky’s face.

“That’s brilliant! I can start today if you need it!”

“Oh, enthusiastic! I like that! But tomorrow’s probably easier. You wouldn’t happen to still have our uniform, would you? Would make everything a whole lot easier.”

“Erm, probably not I’m afraid. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Nah, just would have made things easier. Oh, silly me, I should have asked earlier but what species are you? Just so we can get a uniform ready for tomorrow.”

“I’m a porcupine.”

“Oh, that’s great, we’ve already got a porcupine here so we’ve got some spares in the back.”

“Great, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, nice speaking to you Mr… er… oh I didn’t even ask your name!”

“It’s Lance Morgan” Lance gently laughed.

There was a silence at the other end of the phone. The chirpy voice gone. The only thing that made Lance aware that she hadn’t hung up was the barely perceptible sound of breathing down the line. The bravado Lance has regained was beginning to deplete by the nanosecond. Surely, she wouldn’t deny him a job because of –

“I’m sorry Mr Morgan. We don’t have any positions available for you at this time. Thank you considering The Stable for employment. We wish you look in your future endeavours.”

A click sounded and the monotone sound played through the phone, signalling his failure.

Lance breathed out, not realising he’d been holding it since the silence began after revealing his name. Lance placed the phone down on the table before picking up the note with The Stable’s number on it, briefly remembering the good times he’d worked there, before slowly scrunching it up and tossing it towards the bin, not even caring that it hit its mark.

The fucking bitch! was Lance’s immediate thought. Denying me a job because of what? Of some break up with some girl? That’s fucking discrimination right there! I should phone the Police or something. That’ll put the bint in her place.

Reaching back for his phone, he viciously stamped 911 into the phone before letting his thumb hover over the call button. After a few seconds, he breathed heavily, deleting the number.

Bitch isn’t worth my time. I know I’m ace at that job. They’ve just lost out on me, not me on them. Plus, gives the others chance to get mad tips from Gregory. Probably not though. Bet none of them as good an ass as mine.

Glancing down to the remaining jobs, he quickly flung the other bar job away. It was a dive anyway. He’d played there and it wasn’t fun. Everyone was pissed drunk or high as a kite from opening hours from what he remembered. Hell, not that long ago, he’d been one of them for a brief period of time before Becky frogmarched him out of there, settling for him sulking in their apartment than chugging back Jim Bean whiskey and spluttering on spliffs handed to him. He was never really into that stuff anyway, drinking was more his sport.  

He made quick work of the remaining jobs, not even bothering with the email options, just going for the ones for phone calls. The responses were all the same and came in speedy succession. Phone calls last from five minutes before reducing to seconds, the phone slamming down as soon as Lance mentioned his name.

Utterly frustrated now, Lance grabbed the last sticky note and furrowed his brow. It was a substitute music teacher position. It was at some primary school he’d have to get the tube to get to but the money seemed alright. Plus, no matter what other animals said, he knew music. Up until recently it was his reason for getting out of the bed in the morning. If it meant telling a few brats what part of the guitar was what ands strumming a few chords with them every other day while he got paid, then that was fine with him. He taught Ash guitar, even if she knew a little bit before he refined her knowledge and she betrayed him with it. Should be easy then Lance reasoned. He punched in the number and let the phone ring.

After a while, Lance was about to give up when a lot of noise emanated from the phone. It sounded like a lot of papers being flung out of the way and muffled swearing.

“Er, goddamn it… er, hello? Sorry, one sec.” More muffled swearing and noises occurred, making Lance wonder whether he’d rang a school or a psychiatric ward.

“Sorry about that” the decidedly male voice eventually said. “Just been a bit hectic here at the moment. Hello, my name is Thomas. Thank you for calling John Alexander Primary School, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m ringing about the substitute teaching position. I believe you’re looking for a music teacher?”

“Yes, we are looking for someone to fill the position since Mrs Grimshaw has gone onto maternity leave. The position is only temporary depending whether Mrs Grimshaw wishes to return or become a full-time mother, but then the position will be up for review before giving you the opportunity to take the position. Is that alright with you?”

Aside from the fact the Thomas had gone from muffled cursing to full-blown professionalism, Lance was reeling from the possibility of working at a school full-time.

I probably should have read more than just the job title and wages Lance thought, internally kicking himself.

“Yes, I am aware.” the lies already streaming out of him. “I would like to take this position and, depending on the result of Mrs Grimshaw’s current situation, I would be open to staying on a long-term basis”.

Did I just say that? Shit I sounded almost professional. When did that happen?

“Excellent” Thomas cordially replied. “Would you be available for an interview next week? You’d just need to bring your passport, your teaching qualifications, and your good self of course.”

Of those three things, Lance could easily provide two of them, although the ‘good self’ part would be debateable amongst some animals he knew. Splitting the troublesome part into two, he easily had the qualification aspect down. He still had his GCSE’s and A-Levels with him, still providing a small sense of satisfaction that he had good marks across the board.  It was the teaching part that threw a spanner in the works. It was just kids, why would he need a teaching qualification to show little squirts how to strum a D chord or plonk along on a keyboard? Surely it was unnecessary for little kids.

“Er, is that wholly necessary? I have an A* in my Music A-Level, as well as my GCSE’s. Would that not be enough?” Lance asked, his voice trying to disguise his slight annoyance.

“Erm, I’m not too familiar with those but I do know you a college degree and a teaching license to be able to teach, substitute and full time. Do you have a college degree and teaching license?”

“….no” Lance admitted.

“I see. I’m sorry sir but then we cannot consider you for employment. Thank you for considering us.”

The officious tone was starting to grate on Lance now and his anger was beginning to rise.

“Don’t bullshit me. I see how it is.”

“Sir?” Thomas came back, genuine confusion in his voice.

“It’s because of who I am, isn’t it? Oh, Mr Infidelity wants to get a job at my school? Not on my watch! Better say no to him, don’t want to find him three months down the line trying to cop off with one of the members of staff behind the bike shed now, do we?” Lance all but yelled into the receiver. He was seeing red now. He’d taken enough shit from animals for something that animals did every fucking day.

“I am fucking qualified mate! I have been playing guitar and piano since I was a fucking four-year-old! I have been performing since I was seven and have been a career musician since I was eighteen. I have tonnes of practical experience that those kids would never learn from some prissy teacher with a shitty piece of paper. I know how to play music. Fuck that, I know how music feels. I know the unbridled, unmitigated, uncontrollable joy and the demoralising, depressing, fucking crushing anguish that music can give you. Have you ever stood up on stage with animals who couldn’t give the slightest damn who you are because they’re waiting for the next act? Have you ever had to play your heart, your soul, your entire being in front of animals, hoping that it gets to them. Not that they hear it, that it gets to them, gets to the very centre of their being, so they can understand what you are saying? Even if it’s just the tiniest iota of what you’re truly trying to communicate? I know it. I know it all too well. I know it because I’ve lived it. I’ve lived with it for years now. Hell, I’ve lived with it my entire life and I won’t have some jumped up pencil pusher tell me I don’t have the necessary qualifications to teach little kids basic chords that anybody could do, and all because of a FUCKING BREAKUP THAT WAS NOT MY FUCKING FAULT!”

It was only then that Lance realised that he’d been standing up, had been pacing across the room and had the phone directly in front of his face as he had shouted blue bloody murder. Taking quick breaths, Lance brought the phone back to his ear, expecting that the guy had probably hung up halfway through the rant. Surprisingly enough, he could still his breathing down the line.

“Are you quite done, sir?”

Considering he’d been yelled at with the force of a hurricane, he sounded calm, placid even.

“Yeah… I… I think I’m done” Lance responded between heavy breaths, having spent his allotted allowance of anger for that morning.

“Alright then. Firstly, I have literally no idea what you are talking about. If you’ve done some misdemeanour regarding your relationships, that for you and the affected parties to sort out. That is none of my business. Secondly, having the required qualifications is necessary to teach young children. Let me ask you, do you know how to form a lesson plan?”

“No” Lance conceded.

“Do you know how to engage the students’ schemata?”

“No” Lance replied. What the hell is schemata?

“Do you know how to monitor a lesson effectively?”

“No”

“Do you know how to stage a lesson?”

“No”

“Do you know how to-”

“Okay, okay!” Lance cried. “I don’t know any of that stuff! You’ve made your point, damn it.”

“Your practical experience is exemplary but unless you have these skills as well you would not be able to teach in a school environment. How could you teach without the basic knowledge of how a structured lesson is meant to go? How are you mean to control a class of possibly disinterested students without a working knowledge of how to engage them?”

“Okay, you have a point” Lance agreed. Lance didn’t really want to think about twenty or more kids running amok as he tried to get some semblance of order.

“Finally, from what you’ve just shown me through your unchecked language, you would not be suitable to work as a member of our team. If you accused any of our staff members, or God forbid a student, of a slight with such vulgar language you would be immediately dismissed. To be blunt, your attitude is atrocious and it wouldn’t surprise me if every employer across the city turned you down without even these pearls of wisdom.”

It wasn’t the words that stung, it was the cold, precise the delivery. The unfeeling attitude. It was if this guy was delivering a lecture about some abstract concept to a room of animals rather than delivering pointed barbs directed directly at Lance. That cut deeper than any impassioned attack. Lance could deal with that. He knew how to volley attacks with such fury that it could stop the most het up heckler. But this? No way. Lance was powerless against such disinterested, yet piercing, comments. Lance was all but ready to hang up, already moving to end the call.

“However…”

Lance’s thumb halted. He tentatively raising he phone back up to his ear.

“…I can see you are passionate about music. It’s honestly quite refreshing to hear someone speak with so much fervour about it. While I cannot in all good conscience accept you in any capacity in this school, I can suggest what you could do if you are intent on teaching music.”

Lance was stood stock-still. It was only now that he truly realised what he had bared all to some stranger. No-one, not even Ash, had heard those words from him. Had heard his inner reasoning for playing. But this dude, just some dude at some school miles away from him, had heard it all.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Lance replied, trying to keep the mask of outage in his voice.

“Simple, you become a private music teacher.”

“Sorry, what?” Lance managed to muster after another long silence.

“A private music teacher. It’s pretty obvious really when you think about it. You don’t need all the qualifications since you’d do it on your own time and you’ll teach in your own way. Besides, it would animal’s choice to hire you instead of getting it through the school system so they’ve only got themselves to blame if they don’t like your teaching your attitude. It’s all on you to do it though. You’ve got to get students, organise what you’re going to teach, provide equipment, a location to practice if you can’t go to their houses, what to charge them for your services, and so on. It’s a quite a large undertaking. But, with the way you spoke about music, I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it all out. I must go now since my lunch is starting soon, but thank you for your call. I hope you make the right choice.”

Lance mumbled a thank you before ending the call, slipped into his well-established groove in the settee, and began to allow his mind to mull over what had just happened. He’d been offered an interview. He didn’t have the qualifications to do said interview. He’d yelled enough for the neighbours to consider that domestic abuse was happening and the police had probably already been called. The guy had given him the calmest dressing down of his life. The guy then praised his desire to pursue a career in music and then gave him encouragement and a career suggestion. Was that everything? Lance thought. Think that’s everything.

Lance leaned forward, resting his head in his paws. He’d fucked up and no amount of bravado was going to mask that. Becky was going to be so pissed with him, he knew it. He could already see the scowl forming on her face. He knew it was only day one but she would at least expect a CV sent off or maybe a tentative interview date, not having gotten completely shut down from working in bar he’d already worked at and launching a tirade at a prospective employer. He knew lying wouldn’t work, Becky had a great bullshit detector so trying to wriggle out that would require more cunning he had at disposal at the moment.

Maybe I should try the private teaching…

The thought came unsolicited and jolted Lance’s head out of his paws. Did he just think that?  Was he actually considering this? It had really only been a punt since nothing else had really appealed to him. Was there anything behind that punt? Could he do it? Did he want to do it?

Lance picked up his phone and began researching private teaching, just to see if it was all it was cracked up to be. He spent a couple of hours trawling through various sites, writing down average pay, what was expected of him, qualification requirements, did he need a lot of equipment, did teachers go to students’ houses or a central location? Everything went down on sticky notes and, when those ran out, he started writing on the back of bills and receipts he had lying about, the piles of paper massing around him, making him look awfully similar to the bin with discarded paper scattered around it.

Surveying his work, full of facts and figures, Lance had come to a satisfying conclusion. He could do this. He had the skills, a central location, a timeframe where he could do lessons, a reasonable pricing scheme for kids and adults. The only things he needed to get was a couple of cheap acoustics since using his electric was probably overkill for teaching and getting Becky’s permission to use the flat, which he was fairly confident he could swing.

For the first time in a while, Lance had a plan. He felt confident. He knew he could do it. He’d show everyone that he was the true talent behind Ash’s performance. He’d make everyone forget the stories as his playing ability shone through his students and, with cash lining his pockets, he could start getting gigs again, the bars and clubs begging for him to come back. And then the animals of this city would see him for what he truly was. A rock star. Not like the pretender Ash was but a full blown goddamn rock star. A rock star who could sing, write and play. The whole fucking package! He could see it all so clearly. Lance knew he could do it. Beaming now, Lance couldn’t help but laugh for what felt like the first time in a while. How did he not see it before? Lance fell back into the sofa, his laughter reverberating around the room. Lance the teacher? Had a nice ring to it. If the path to success meant teaching a few untalented nobodies, so bet it. He could do it.

This is going to be a piece of fucking cake Lance thought, before leaping off the sofa. Right, now where can I get business cards?

#breaking the surface #fanfiction #fanfiction.net #ao3 #archive of our own #sing 2016 #don't own anything #my fanfic #hope you enjoy #chapter 2 #lance #becky #ocs