Vanilla

Twenty Six

A/N: Hello Beans! It's another update /.\ but I'm a little ill and all so I'm not sure if I can be making it next week for another update here. I'd planned on a double update for FS and Vanilla but I guess not ;-; I'll be keeping you guys updated on Instagram (hisangelchip) though, so if I dooo somehow manage to get it up (the next lovely chapter will be Vanilla's canon birthday) I will let you guys know hehe. 

Cheers! (omG CUPPIE HAVE U THE BRITISH U R HUH)

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[Vanilla]

It was no easy task, responding to something so inherently foreign and nearly impossible to conceive. After all, the day I'd come to be on the receiving end of a teacher's wrath was simply an occasion left unmarked on every monthly calendar, unchecked in every list, unplanned in every new years' resolution. Startled, I'd very naturally remained quite still amidst her words that stung, struggling to find my grounding and alleviate the extent of this entire misunderstanding.

"Any other excuses? Or should I be reporting this to your instructor-in-charge?"

"It wasn't an excuse," I attempted to say. "And I really wasn't lying, which, I believe," a correction was necessary upon the raise of her brow, "you weren't either, ma'am. I have no doubt that all the switches were as you say they were but, w-well, it could be that one of them had so coincidentally tripped and I promise. I have no reason to lie or, or to go outside and spend the time somewhere else without purpose—"

"Well, then why would your hands be trembling if you weren't out in the cold ignoring your duties? Or is this a biological reaction to lying?" The instructor snapped at once, pointing with her pen. She then paused, seemingly tired. "Forget it. It's not like I have time going around babysitting Kirov's kids. Give me your name."

"This isn't... I've been running trays under freezing water for the past thirty minutes, ma'am," I tried again, ears heated. Bit by bit, I could feel the muscle in my chest sink. "I promise. There's someone who can attest to that! A classmate of mine had been coming to me with requests—"

"Your name."

The weight on my shoulders doubled at her tone. It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out the immunity she'd somehow developed; an immunity to words. Calculating the odds I had stacked up against me and weighing that against the evidence I could gather precipitated the conclusion that continuing to argue my case was not going to do me any good since, well, I couldn't prove the pivotable point of the switch. Defeated and unwilling to contest further ground and perhaps land myself in dangerous waters, I gave it to her.

"Huh," she snorted. "The one who nearly cleared the taste test?"

Unable to tell if it was a genuine response she'd been expecting or if it had been some sort of rhetoric she'd posed, I resorted to silence, to which she soon dismissed upon getting back to work. Upset, I started back to my station after conjuring positive thoughts of having heated water for the next hour or so.

I was, unfortunately, very wrong.

Not only were there now a ton of trays and utensils stacked up to the left of the sink, I was once again sent into arctic shocks upon turning the tap on. Recovering moments after leaving it running, I checked the handle and confirmed that I'd had it pointed towards the red dot, which therefore necessarily pointed towards two conclusive statements.