Casual Heroing

Chapter 217: Problems?

Chapter 217: Problems?

In the morning, I got a message from Ariostus. Apparently, its all good. He just wants to present me to the rest of the academy in person. That should help with the fact that our Advanced Cantrips [Professor] has just lost his job and has been sent to some backwater city as a clerk or something. I mean no disrespect, but when you have such an important position, and you botch it, thats what you deserve. If you stab someone, thats one person you have hurt. But if you are an idiotic [Professor]? Jesus, that can get catastrophic; the damage you can do is out of this world. Your teachings will multiply like a virus and spread like the worst of plagues.

In fact, how many lives do we ruin due to bad teaching?

And do you know what always got me about bad teachers?

Teaching is a form of self-improvement. No one knows everything, and I dont like those professors who want to pass as people who never make mistakes. Its like doctors who never check the guidelines. Those doctors kill people. And the professors who need the illusion of being all-knowing are the same. In my head, a professor is no different from a ship captainwait. No, Im not going to use the word captain. It reminds me of that filmwhats the title? Dead Poets Society? Whatever. The point is that every class is a journey. I dont give a damn about the state guidelines. A professor should teach something that will remain impressed in their students minds and go on with that. Sadly, its not possible at the high school level. Its a little better at the college level. But still, very few professors have the necessary leeway to be able to do whatever they deem the best for their students.

But guess who just earned two patches on his elbows and the right to steal co-workers sandwiches from the teachers room?

How you doin, I say with a giant smile at the counter, adding a wink and a tongue click.

You, Cassandre sighs. Its still very early in the morning, and the formal introduction wont start until a few hours later. Im getting some food because I need to tell my group about my situation. I left Marcellus sleeping on the couch. He deserves some rest.

No one around, huh? I say, looking around the shop.

Most of the baguettes are not ready yet. Apparently, the academy has cancelled all morning lessons today. We are getting ready for lunch instead.

Lunch, lovely, I smile, can I still place an order for some of those baguettes? Id like a dozen. Here, I have a list of what they shouldThe source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

She snatches the piece of paper and passes it to the chef after writing something on it.

Good. If you dont need anything else, you can sit over there and free the queue.

I look over my shoulder.

Queue? Theres no one here, lady. Plus, I wanted to have a small chat. Would that be so terrible?

Chat? Listen, Elf, I am here to conduct some businss.

Oh, Im all for the businss myself, lady, I say, adding another wink as a good measure. But I couldnt help but notice that you seem to come from a foreign country.

And what businss is that for you?

What?

You mean what do I care about it?

Uh-uh, she nods.

Well, I dont know. I love learning about other countries. Would you tell me about where you come from? I bet its full of beautiful girls, but of course, you are still one of the prettiest.

Cassandre mimics a puking motion before looking at me with pity.

I come from the most beautiful country in the world, she says with a haughty expression, pouting her lips as if it was impossible for me to understand.

Oh, isnt that lovely? What, pray tell, makes your country so fantastic?

Everything. We have the best landscaping in the world, the best food, the best culture, literature, art We invented all those things. And we invented democracy as well.

Interesting.

Oh, and whats your favorite kind of painting? I dig paintings of leaves and trees, I tell her with a lot of enthusiasm.

Leaves and trees? Cassandre frowns. But when she sees my sincere face and the huge smile I put on, I think she feels bad for me this time with genuine pity, not just spiteful pity.

Well, art is not just about the subject; sometimes, its about the artist.

Meaning? I ask.

It might be a journy to reach something, like this artist, Mondrian, Cassandre says with dreamy eyes while I nod at the purely circumstantial evidence Im following.

Piet Mondrian was a painter who aspired to reach ideals of perfection, purity, unity, and even spiritualism through his paintings. He believed theres a perfect reality that is detached from our reality. That there is a perfect version of our world. And he was trying to reach this world through his art and the spirituality derived from his artworks. So, to reach something thats above this world, you cant paint elements that remind you of this world; for example, you cant make a portrait or a landscape because they are reflections of the reality we live in. You have to reduce these elements to the bare minimum. So, you strip down everything, and you get lines, squares, and primary colorsred, blue, and yellow; these are the only colors present in his paintings. All his paintings are the same in a way; they are an iteration, his personal journey to reach an ideal, the perfect composition. Never diagonal lines, though! He got in a fight with Theo van Doesburg about that. Mondrian said that diagonal lines suggest movement and thus are not simple enough. He wasnt even painting his later pieces; he would use tape instead. And he would put it on the canvas in whatever way. Then, he would come back the next day, and he would take off the tape and tape it somewhere else. It was very unusual. He was constantly searching for a better way to find perfection.

I am hit by a stream of words this woman just spouted on me like a ton of bricks. But wait, isnt Mondrian a familiar name?

This Mondrian, he sounds like quite the character. Was he a fellow countryman of yours?

No, he wasnt. And he spent most of his life overseas, in the USin another place.

Like, in Carilia? I ask, feigning ignorance.

Sort of, she smiles, still dreamily looking at the ceiling.

Boy, this girl definitely studied humanities, didnt she?

But whatever. I think I was dragged by a date to a couple of museums where they had some stuff by this Mondrian fella. I wonder if hes the guy that made the colored rectangles. If he is, this woman is crazy. The painting Im visualizing in my head right now is the sort of art that should get you burnt at the stake like a witch. Must be my Italian blood, but Im more of a Neo-Classical/Renaissance guy myself. The whole weirdo vibe really missed the mark for me. A literary equivalent would probably be the Futurist idiots and their garbage.

Youll never understand, Cassandre sighs, getting the order that was ready already during her speech.

Who knows, I might, I smile in return.

Trust me; you wont. Also, get some flirting lessons, friend. You will have many problems with women if you behave like that.

I laugh, not able to help myself.

Hell, if I dont like a theatrical performance.

Problems? I say while leaving a random number of gold coins on the counter and picking up my order.

I turn on my heels, look over my shoulder, and deactivate my disguise.

I got ninety-nine problems, friend, but a lady aint one.

Wink, tongue click, strutting out.

And thats Joey, motherflipping, Luciani, baby.

We are back.

See you, Frenchie, I say as I leave a wide-mouthed girl behind me.