Classrooms

Beginning in a new setting was somehow continuously difficult for him. A world that seemed to be under constant turmoil from the inside out made for a fantastic arena to test the boundaries of a fringed idea of normalcy, not to mention offered someone of his taste the perfect chance to escape reality on whim. Who was going to pay attention to a phantom of an individual who moved so frequently the mass of his belongings was summed up in two 3X4 cardboard boxes? Of course, when Alazay Dalrist had accepted a teaching position at the more or less...controversial academy, there had been some admittedly ulterior motives steering the majority of his ambitions. Rumors surfaced here and there about the prosperous Deamon Academy. Rumors he'd been interested in investigating for the past year or so.
Al knocked his head against the door frame staring into his empty classroom with a nearly blank mind. A sliver of his untamed mane slashed through his dark stare and tickled the bridge of his nose. With some effort he ignored the urge to reach up and scratch. Shit. What time was it?
He slid his attention sidelong to a sleek, gracefully modern clock pinned to the wall over a blank white board at the head of the room. He'd been politely asked to keep a tight schedule and formal addiction to punctual behavior Monday through Saturday. He blew out a breath tasting the lingering mint of his toothpaste.
"A schedule from eight to twelve seems a little obsessive," he muttered finally pushing off from the door to pace those first, tentative steps into the immaculately clean room.