An Ocean For Me To Drown: Bellarke One Shots

The T.A.

Clarke rushed past the few students who were slowly walking towards their classes all dressed up. She ignored their shouts and annoyed looks, continuing to run, but focusing on not falling in the obnoxious heels she had been talked into wearing for her outfit.

As she approached her class, she tried her hardest to catch her breath and open the doors quietly, but they squeaked loudly as she entered, all eyes on her.

Nervously, she walked down the stairs to her seat, right next to her best friend who was dressed as a "sexed up technician," which was basically a bikini with a lab coat.

"What perfect timing," a man spoke, standing from behind his desk. It wasn't the usual teacher, Mr. Ardsen. Instead, someone much younger, and much more attractive. "On the very day we are going to discuss how art shaped history, we have a painter in the room."

Clarke gulped.

"Mrs. Van Gogh? Mrs. Monet? Perhaps you're Mrs. Picasso?"

"Mrs. Manet," she corrected. "The beret narrows it down, no?"

"Okaaay," Raven whispered, trying not to laugh.

"A fan of Manet then," the man smiled. "Well, you missed my introduction. I'm Mr. Blake, the T.A. for the rest of this class. Why don't you enlighten us, Mrs. Manet. What's your opinion on art and how it shaped history?" His brown eyes were daring her.

Clarke stood, pulling the ridiculously small skirt down. "I can't say for certain that it shaped history, but my opinion is that art of any sort, whether painting, music, books, or even dancing, can influence others or allow people to understand one another and connect. Take any painting you'd like, and you can tell me what it looks like to you. You can tell me what you feel when you see it. As a society, I think that's important and can bring people together. In one painting, perhaps The Railway, to you that may just seem like a mother and child. To one it may look like the struggle and exhaustion of a mother, the love of a mother, to others they may see it as a lonely stranger and a little girl just happening to be near one another. If art can help people translate their experiences, which can be translated for centuries, I think that helps shape society, which in turn I suppose shapes history."

Clarke took her seat as slowly, applause filled the room. Mr. Blake looked her over, biting the side of his bottom lip to try not to smile.

"Okay," he called, calming everyone down. "Mrs. Manet here defintely showed me, I get it. But, we've got less than hour now of time. All of you chose a famous painting, any time before the nineteen twenties, and break it down for me. Tell me how you interpret it and why you think it became famous."

Clarke opened up her laptop, laughing a little at the guy in front of her who just smeared fake blood all over his paper from his zombie make up.

Clarke looked over the top of her computer, her blue eyes meeting Mr. Blake's directly. His tanned skin against his stark white button up was a good look for him. His tie was black, simple. His jaw was strong, a small dent in his chin, and he was covered in freckles. Clarke had never thought of freckles as an attractive or unattractive quality before, but on him, she wanted to trace every one of them.

"You're going to fail if you keep staring at the T.A. instead of writing your paper," Raven whispered, shaking her concentration.

Clarke blushed, looking back down at her laptop as Raven giggled, making fun of her. She hurried to type up a quick two pages, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She chose The Plumb, one she had written about before. Once her two pages were complete, she sent them to Mr. Blake.

His computer chimed, his eyes looking up to meet hers in surprise. She smiled, looking away. Deciding to help Raven, she looked on to see that she had chosen The Old Guitarist by Picasso. Her paper was explaining how she felt bad for the man portrayed, how he looked sad and poor. Clarke opened up her chat, sending Raven a few points she could make. Raven of course thanked her tremendously, finishing her paper just a few minutes later.