“The teacher fighting is also teaching” ... more moving in the original pictured‼️ ➡️ #Repost @dianna_marisol ・・・ Rain ☔️ or Shine ☀️LA Teachers are gonna Walk the Picket Line✊🏾Mad Love to ALL Teachers, students & parents who marched today in the rain for #PublicEducation #SmallClassSize #MoreNurses #MoreCounselors #MoreLibrarians Photo by @ernestoyerena #StrikeReady #LaMaestraLuchando #TambienEstaEnseñando #lausdstrike #isupportourteachers Repost from @lascafeteras https://www.instagram.com/p/BsoOhruBw0x/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1uxo3buodws96
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The garbled sounds came from under a towel. Which was thrown over a pot with hot salt water.
“I will,” not now. Not in the next five days, but I certainly will stop fussing. When she stopped falling over her own feet again.
She lifted the towel and glowered at me, as much as you can glower with a completely red and dripping face.
I pointed in the direction of the timer: “Five minutes, still, Miss Jibril, then I shall release you”
She mumbled something about 'dictator' and 'unfair', but at least she did as she was told. I unfolded and refolded my legs while I continued to read through the neurologist's journal. Needed to stay true to my own studies.
After five minutes, I pulled the towl from her head and she sat up, looking unhappy and somewhat swollen. But she could breath without a hitch. I nodded and smiled at her: “You're free”
“... I hate you,” it was the most dead pan tone of voice I've heard from her. Much less stuffy than usual. She must be better. Actually better.
“Thank you. And now... behold... your notes,” I took the copies of the collective notes of her colleagues out of my bag and held them over in reach of a very displeased lady.
Her hair was dripping slightly. She looked a little like murder was on the table. A valid option, too.
I did hold them like this for a moment.
The murder-option became more viable by the second.
My smile became a bit of a smirk: “All right, all right. No water near your notes, I get it”
So I got myself out of this (too small) chair and got the blow dryer and a brush.
She was not happy about it, but life threatening violence was out of the picture again.
The first time I'd done her hair, she'd... protested. Until she had tried it herself. And holding the blow dryer and the brush at the same time... holding things in general apparently had been too much.
She'd told me 'Fine, do it, just so I can laugh at you since you can't do my hair any justice'
… or something like that. Actually, I think she knew I could get along with hair. And so I very carefully brushed and dried and made it into the usual voluminous curly... thing.
Hey, I never said I knew how to name what I did with hair.
The third time or so I actually heard her sigh when I combed her hair. Seemed to be nice, at least.
… I filed the information away. Someplace. I was worried how much I filed away lately, but... well... it didn't matter.
Currently, I was gently curling her hair with a brush and made sure it dried.
She seemed to like the air stream, too.
Looked a little less high-strung. The sigh was back.
It didn't take five minutes, really. But afterwards, I continued to comb for five more.
Miss Jibril had leant back and had her eyes closed.
Looked fairly tired, too, in her pyjamas.
So...
“... cozy?”
“Mrrnnn...” that was a grumble.
“Because... you know... there is a bed over there... all fresh and smelling of ocean breeze...”
“Mrrrnnnn,” she looked unhappy.
“... seriously, what do you remember from the last time I brought you notes?”
She tried to lift a hand and took a breath... just to let it sink down again and grumble some more.
“... tomorrow?”
More grumbles.
“Very well... of to bed, then”
There was a slightly unhappy grumble...?
“... after five more minutes”
A minute later, a sigh followed.
Fiiiine...
“This... is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted”
I raised a brow, sighed a little: “I'm glad”
… from the look I got this time I would assume I was the one that insulted her.
“... you taste something again. You'll be up and about in about two days,” I offered, smiling.
Her nose scrunched up: “... that doesn't change the fact that this is just... blegh”
I rolled my eyes: “... it contains everything you need... it's not like you tasted anything before”
“Hrm,” she frowned and stared at her bowl, unhappily.
With another sigh, I went to the kitchen and received salt, pepper, tabasco and... uh... ginger, because that stuff was everywhere.
She stared at the condiments.
“... this... this is closed. You... I never had salt in my soup?!”
I frowned at it, then shrugged, it was true.
“... you're never cooking again. Ever. I'm serious,” she seemed genuinely agitated. And unwrapped the salt, unscrewing it too, putting a... a pinch in her bowl, added pepper and ginger – I'd known! - and then grabbed a hair strand and pulled me down and shoved a spoon in my mouth.
“Uhmnh?!,” I frowned at her. Half confused.
“That's how it's supposed to taste like”
I blinked. And unstuck the spoon, tasting it.
“... it's good. It is”
“It's called seasoning, I hope you at least heard of it”
I smiled at the undignified sneer. And shook my head. Ah well: “I did, don't worry. I just don't utilise it much”
“... you have a sad life”
“... says the one who didn't get their flu shot”
And we were back to light grumbling. Fair.
I smirked into my journal and let her ave her – now enhanced – soup.
I'd been right. Three days and it was over. Or at least over enough for me to give an okay to school. She'd gone through all the notes and was almost up to date... I brought her the notes every day – seriously, I didn't even have Latin every day.
At the very end, I brought her a package of unwrapped drops in a metal box she can take to the lessons and suck on without disturbing people by unwrapping.
“The cough will persist a while when you start talking more. I've brought some more painkillers, don't eat them all at once. Make sure you drink enough,” I bopped her head with the last copied notes: “... you have my number if you need help, but your roommate should come back now, so... I'll see you in Latin,” I nodded and tried to look stern.
She could walk again. Without holding onto things. It was over, really.
And now I turned around and trotted back to my own 'humble' abode.
I almost didn't expect her to call after me: “See you then! And... uh... Raph... thanks for... fussing, I guess?”
I shrugged: “It's my job. You're better now. Try a vaccine next time”
I waved and finally returned to my routine.
Would be a bit easier to learn at home.
... the distractions there are less... intriguing.
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