Draft #29 - Education
School is, admittedly, something that I did not enjoy when I was younger. It was the three most boring and dreaded months of my years as a hatchling, despite my initial eagerness to attend. While I did not regret going to school - I learned, as is the case for most, far more there than I would've had I not gone - what I do regret were the circumstances in which I started.
***
Bhrak's claws tapped methodically on the control panel of the car. Had it not been Rulshkka in the backseat, he was sure the elderly Vokkrus would be humming along to whatever tune he had in his head. As it were, the only sound that filled the enclosed vehicle was claws clicking against metal.
Rulshkka gave a little sigh, staring at the phone in his hand. Rukka's texts stared back at him.
[Rukka]: Will you pick up Nohkka from school today? This meeting is lasting longer than I expected, and Kac is running errands for her mother.
[Rulshkka]: Of course. I will take her back to my place. Same time?
[Rukka]: Yes. Thanks. You should spend more time with her, you know. Having a hatchling isn't so bad.
He hadn't figured out a response to that, yet. Vokkras had no place having hatchlings, as far as he was concerned. Spirits, he couldn't even have a pet without half the planet attempting to do him harm.
At the thought of Kohgrash, he flicked through his phone to find their message log. While he could only communicate with Kohgrash through his computer, he had been ecstatic to find out that he could read any incoming messages on his phone. Trosk was working on a remedy to that particular problem. The technology was rather new, after all. It had only been a year and a half since Rulshkka had started talking with Kohgrash after all.
01:35:31 > I won't be able to respond for a while. Rukka has requested I pick up Nohkka from school.
01:52:44 > o7 tell her I said hi!
Rulshkka wondered if the translator was broken. Regardless, he got the message. He sighed again, feeling just a little listless.
"Sire," Bhrak said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the car. Rulshkka idly wondered if he should invest in music; there wasn't much on his planet, and Earth had been filled with it. It had been nice to listen to, at times, and he thought that his planet would likely benefit from an influx in the art.
"Hm?" he hummed in response, tearing his eyes off his phone to look at Bhrak. The elderly Vokkrus was looking at him through the reflection of the windshield.
Bhrak raised his brows, widening his eyes as he tilted his head toward the building where they were parked outside. "Sir Rukka's hatchling has been released."
Rulshkka suppressed a smile. Released. As if Nohkka had been imprisoned. He turned his gaze toward the building; the same one he had taken Kohgrash to. A sudden surge of children were rushing out of the building in waves, and it took Rulshkka a long moment to locate Nohkka, huddled up together with her friends. She was tall for her age, he noted.
He hadn't had to pick her up from school in a very long time; often, he was only asked as a last resort. Rulshkka wasn't the most reliable of Vokkrus.
"Thank you, Bhrak. I will return shortly," he said, opening the car door and stepping out. He heard Bhrak grunt in response, having learned to roll with the punches that came with Rulshkka's 'quirkiness.' Some Vokkrus were still hung up on his mannerisms - he didn't exactly act like a pompous Vokkra all the time - but most of the population had figured out that protesting his actions did not force him into changing.
Bhrak had parked some length away from the building - to avoid the other parents, he had explained gruffly, unasked - but Rulshkka still found himself noticed by others as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle.
"O Vokkra," a slim, light orange Vokkrus called out, bowing at the waist. "How pleasant to see you on this glorious day!"
"Vokkra!" someone else exclaimed, a deep-hued purple coloring their skin. More heads swiveled toward his direction.
Rulshkka hid the grimace that wanted to make its way on his face. Thankfully, no one touched him. He had gotten quite used to the deference that his people bestowed on him, especially after his recent achievements - hosting a new sapient species is bound to bring acclaim to their planet and thus open frivolous amounts of trade from the Alliance.
Still, as much as his people noticed his presence and exclaimed their delight upon seeing him - which wasn't terrible, he supposed, there were just some days where he wished for the anonymity of a civilian - he knew that it wasn't as bad as when he had first become Vokkra. Everyone on the planet seemed to know when he had left the mansion, intent on speaking with him and offering their congratulations and asking him questions he had no answers to. It had been exhausting, but he knew that if he retreated into the hermit Bffgraah had been, he'd never be able to rest.
So, he had gone out frequently. His staff had been appalled the first time he had came back to the estate with bags in his hands - he had never had this much expendable wealth, and he had found it ridiculously easy to spend - but they had quickly gotten used to it. There was no way they could stop him, after all, short of locking him up. And even then, he would've gotten out.
His people had gotten used to seeing him in different places. But he supposed that a school was far too out of the ordinary to be ignored.
Mercifully, Nohkka had seen him coming. She started rushing toward him. Unfortunately, she brought all of her friends with her, and then some.
A gaggle of hatchlings, both older and younger than his niece, crowded around him. He crouched; he could scarcely hear all the young ones' chattering when he towered above them.
"Hello, Nohkka," he said, holding out his arms. She collided with his chest, and he pressed his forehead against hers fondly. She pulled away rather swiftly, and Rulshkka simply dreaded the time when she would not be so open with her affections. "How was your day, today?"
"Good!" she chirped. "Where's Momma?"
"She's at a meeting," he explained, looking at the group of hatchlings behind her. They were staring at him with wide, curious eyes. He smiled at them, and a few of them smiled back, far more practiced than his. He wondered how many of them had had a human. "So, I'm here to pick you instead. Is that okay?"
"Yeah!" she cheered. "I wanna go see Uncle Thruul."
Thruul had been utterly flummoxed and beyond thrilled the first time she had called him such. Rulshkka had been half-afraid that the Vokkrus would start wailing. "Not your Uncle Rul?" he asked, teasing. She gave him a deadpan look.
"No, you're boring," she told him. He huffed out a little laugh.
"Hey!" one of the children finally piped up. "You can't say that to him, Nohkka. He's the Vokkra."
"He's my uncle first," she said haughtily, reminding him of his mother.
The little one, some adorably squishy Vokkrus who couldn't be more than 50 years old, pouted but couldn't fault Nohkka's logic enough to come up with a rebuttal. Thankfully, before an argument could start - Nohkka was looking like she was gearing up for a fight - another hatchling spoke up.
"Where's your mammal pet, Sir Vokkra?" she said in a squeaky, high-pitched lilt.
Rulshkka squinted, trying to ignore the fissure of hurt in his chest. He spoke gently, though, "The humans were taken back to their planet, little one. My Kohgrash was one of them."
"Mine stayed!" shouted another hatchling, boldly yellow and much shorter than their companions.
"No fair," one sniffled, and Rulshkka was not equipped to handle upset hatchlings. "Miran didn't stay!"
Rulshkka quickly held up his claws placatingly, "It's okay. The humans chose to go back. You'd want them to be happy, wouldn't you? I'm sure they miss you as much as you miss them, but they belong somewhere else."
Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to say, as the hatchling still looked upset, but Rulshkka was saved from having a group of upset hatchlings when their parents surged forward. Offering apologies that he waved away with an air of awkwardness, the group slowly dispersed.
"Alright, Nohkka," he breathed a sigh of relief when the last hatchling scampered off. "Let's get -"
Something latched to his leg as he stood up to turn toward the car, and he peered down in bemusement. Nohkka pushed on his legs with all the might she could muster - which wasn't very much. She looked slightly panicked, and Rulshkka started growing defensive, face already twisting into a derisive sneer as he turned around to face the threat.
He cleared his expression quickly when his eyes landed on Dorir, an elderly Vokkrus who was very vocal about education and the politics surrounding it. She was often at his banquets to offer - demand - solutions to certain issues within the education system. He tried his best to fix them, certainly, but it never seemed to be enough for the pink-hued Vokkrus.
She was, as he had heard from Rukka, Nohkka's least favorite teacher. Which said a lot, since the hatchling liked almost everyone. It was odd; the elder Vokkrus looked to be kind, but her tongue was sharp. At least, it was for him.
"Hello, Honorable Dorir," he said demurely.
"Greetings, Vokkra. I must admit that I hadn't expected your presence today. I had hoped for Sir Rukka or perhaps her mate, Kac'kor'nh."
Rulshkka side-eyed Nohkka, who was trying to appear as innocent as she possibly could. "My apologies," he said to her teacher, "I'm afraid it's just me today."
"Hm," she said, less than pleased. "Still, perhaps you can shed some light on Nohkka's latest behavior."
Rulshkka felt Nohkka shifting on her feet, and a glance in her direction told him that she was just as uncomfortable as he was. He opened his mouth to protest - wouldn't it be better for Rukka or Kac to handle this? They were Nohkka's parents, after all; Rulshkka was just her uncle - but Dorir was already speaking.
"Nohkka's performance has been less than exemplary, lately, Your Majesty," she started to explain. Rulshkka felt a frown twist his features. "It is harder to capture her attention for her studies than it used to be. She daydreams throughout the day, and the quality of work her work has started to slip. I know she can be better than this."
Dorir's features were stern and not at all kind, and suddenly, Rulshkka felt just as small as he had been when he had first started school. His mother's words rang in his ears like claws scraping against stone. He tried not to feel defensive on Nohkka's behalf, but it was hard to stop his claws from twitching.
Dorir, ever observant, ducked her head slightly. "I mean no disrespect to your family, Your Majesty. I simply worry for Nohkka. She will not go far if she only relies on her family name. She needs to have skills of her own, and she cannot develop them while daydreaming."
That was enough, Rulshkka thought. He picked up Nohkka swiftly, clutching her a bit too tightly than necessary. He didn't deign Dorir with a response, simply nodded once at her, barely, and turned to leave. They were in the car in a few minutes, but Rulshkka felt as though the steps took him hours to achieve.
The silence in the car was terse, Bhrak easily picking up on the tension radiating off the Vokkra. Rulshkka let Nohkka crawl off him, settling in her own seat. She didn't say anything, looking upset, and he realized that he ought to be the one to say something.
Words of encouragement were right on his tongue, ready to prompt her into doing what she enjoyed and not minding what teachers told her, but what came out was a harsh, guttural, "You need not listen to her, Nohkka," and he feared he may have frightened her with the ferocity of it.
Her eyes were wide yet trusting, and Rulshkka felt just the tiniest bits of guilt stirring in his chest. He gentled his voice, trying to rid himself of the unexpected anger. What was he so upset about? "Don't worry about your teacher, dear one. While you should do your work when asked, I won't bemoan over your inattention during class. Is it boring?"
Nohkka nodded, face clearing up of any remnants of fear. "Honorable Dorir is so dull," she told him, and Rulshkka let her complaints wash over him as he relaxed into the seat of the car. He forgot about his unexplained ire until Rukka showed up at his doorstep late into the night, apologizing for her tardiness.
"Kac decided to sleep at her mother's," she told him a bit grumpily, taking a sleeping Nohkka out of his arms with a gentleness Rulshkka has only seen directed at a handful of Vokkrus. "I know she is ill, but Kac has a family here, too."
Kac's mother had been less than fortunate health-wise, lately, and Kac seemed to spend every waking moment with her. It was odd to both he and Rukka, considering their father had died young and well... Korrashkka.
Thruul was their voice of insight; he had a relatively healthy relationship with his family. "Parents are important to some," he told them, a few steps behind Rulshkka. "If Nohkka did not visit you when you were near death, how would you feel?"
Rukka looked down at her sleeping hatchling, and so did Rulshkka. She was so small still. She was bigger than Rulshkka ever had been at that age, but enveloped in her mother's arms seemed to make her all that tinier. They did not say anything, and Rulshkka wondered if his sister knew what Thruul was speaking of. He couldn't really grasp it.
"One of her teachers, Honorable Dorir?" Rulshkka said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Rukka nodded in recognition, eyes still memorizing every detail of Nohkka's face. "She had concerns about her and decided that since neither you nor Kac were available to tell me, instead."
Rukka's face barely shifted, but Rulshkka could tell she felt uncomfortable and awkward, "I'm sorry, Rul, had I known -"
"It's no matter," he said hurriedly. "I'm happy to help where I can, you know."
Rukka nodded slowly. "What was it she had concerns about?"
"Nohkka daydreams or something to that effect," he said flippantly, brushing his claws against the sleeping one's face gently. "I can't say that I paid her much mind; she said some things that... upset me," he finished with a frown.
"Like what?" was her response. After Rulshkka had told her, she shared a look with Thruul over his shoulder and said in the gentlest tone he's ever heard from her, "It's not surprising, Rul. Mother used to say those things to you."
His frown worsened, edging into a severe scowl. He did not like to think of his mother. Later into the night, when he had crawled into bed alongside Thruul, he couldn't help but think of his own schooldays.
***
On his first day of school, Rulshkka was nearly overflowing with excitement. He tried hard not to show it, lest he irritate his mother, but he just couldn't help the exciting wiggling of his tail nor his bouncing in place.
"Take care of your brother," Korrashkka told Rukka, casting an icy look in Rulshkka's direction. He didn't notice it, though, staring wide-eyed at the building in front of them. "He's weak and needs your protection, okay?"
Rulshkka looked over with a slight frown marring his face. He tried not to let the words get to him; he wasn't weak. His sire had told him so. Still, he couldn't help but feel his shoulders creep up to his ears as if he could block out his mother's words with them.
"Not weak," he uttered under his breath, just to hear the words.
His mother looked over, turning her attention to him. Rulshkka tried not to shy away when she reached out to settle her claws on the top of his head, but it was hard not to. Thankfully, it didn't seem that she noticed. Or maybe she did. She had a small, mean smile written on her face.
"Rulshkka, you'll behave in class," she told him frostily, and he nodded hurriedly.
It had been part of the agreement for him to go to school. Behave, don't get into any trouble, and do well in school. Rukka had already been going for a year - it wasn't uncommon for hatchlings to delay their entrance into education, especially if they were smaller and weaker than average - and Korrashkka had realized that with Rukka gone, she'd be spending time with Rulshkka instead.
At first, Rulshkka had been hopeful for their time alone. He hadn't forgotten his mother's claims that she loved him - in fact, he often repeated that memory in his head when he was falling asleep, wrapping his blankets tightly around him to mimic her hug - so he had high hopes that they'd be able to develop a nice, loving relationship. Like the one she had with Rukka.
But reality had been cruel and the hope inside his chest had dimmed to a weak ember.
Still, even with his mother's cold indifference to him, he had done his best to appease her. Cleaning up the house where he could and keeping to himself when he could not seemed to be his best tactic. Whenever Rukka got home from school, she would let him take a peek at her schoolwork if she was in a good mood. It wasn't like going to school himself, but it was the best he got.
Now, though, he didn't have to worry about when he'd be going to school because here he was! Standing outside the building, the happiness inside his chest couldn't even be squashed by his mother.
A teacher - teacher! Rulshkka was beyond excited - called for classes to begin, and Rulshkka scampered off with Rukka before his mother could change her mind about his attending.
"Don't bother me or my friends, Rul," Rukka told him. Rulshkka nodded, wilting just a little. He hoped that he could make some friends. At his dejection, Rukka amended, "But you can sit with me at lunch."
"I didn't know you had a hatchmate, Rukka! You're lucky!" he heard one of her friends exclaim as she separated from him. He heard Rukka huff out a scathing response, and he tried not to feel how the words scorched his soul.
School was interesting, Rulshkka decided. He liked learning, he found out. He knew there was more to him than cleaning up after Rukka, avoiding his mother's wrath, and feeling sad about his father's death. He learned how to write, he learned how to read, and most importantly, he learned how to make friends.
Or perhaps, how to not make friends.
He wasn't exactly great at it. He wasn't as extroverted as his sister, who seemed to draw everyone around her in. Still, he tried his hand at it. Talking to the other children his age wasn't difficult, but figuring out how to keep the conversation going in a way that intrigued them was.
He was used to getting talked at; there wasn't much of a chance to chime in his own two cents with his mother or Rukka, after all. He quickly found out that other hatchlings expected Rulshkka to talk too, not just stare at them and nod along every once in a while.
It had immediately ostracized him. He hadn't figured it out quickly enough.
He watched with listless sorrow and frustrated regret as his class started forming groups of friends without him. Budging in was met with odd looks and half-hearted attempts at including him, and he soon realized that he had lost his chance to become friends with anyone.
It was fine, he told himself. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here to learn.
As the days went by, Rulshkka realized that learning was hard, too.
He stared at the marked paper with some sort of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know why he was so horrified to see his score until he got home that day and placed his papers on the table for his mother to inspect. She only paid attention to Rukka's scores, really, but Rulshkka put his papers up there, too, just to imagine that she would look at his and feel proud, too. Always, she barely glanced at his, only praising Rukka and saying nothing for him.
Today, though, with his abysmal score, she paid attention. Her lips lifted into a sneer, baring her teeth at him threateningly. Rulshkka had felt fear before but never has he felt such terrifying horror in his entire being.
"What's this, Rulshkka?" she asked him. Rulshkka's eyes went to the floor, listening as Rukka scampered over to see what the fuss was about. She gave a high-pitched laugh of derision as she looked at his score. He felt his shoulders hunch. "I thought we had a deal."
"We do," he murmured to the ground.
"Speak up," Korrashkka snapped, slamming the paper on the table with a bang. It creaked ominously, but Rulshkka could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart.
"We do!" he nearly shouted. Korrashkka's face grew stormy, but he kept talking. "I'm - I'm trying my hardest, Mother!"
"Try harder!" she hissed. "Rukka has no trouble with this material." Beside her, his sister preened at the praise. Rulshkka felt a lump in his throat. Why couldn't it be him?!
Anger burned underneath his ribs, and he couldn't help the angry twist of his face, couldn't help the acidic words rolling off his tongue in a choked, wailing shriek, "I'm not Rukka!"
It had been the first time his mother had struck him. Her claws raked across his face with such force that it knocked him to the ground in a breathless pile of betrayal and agony. He pressed his hand to the wounds, ignored the overwhelming desire to start wailing like even more of a pathetic hatchling than he already was, and stared up at his mother in shock. He would never forget her face.
Shock, righteousness, and smug pride flickered across her face. Rulshkka wanted, needed, to see any flicker of regret in her face, but there was none.
When she said, "Go to your room," in a scathing whisper, he obeyed. He crawled onto his bed and pulled the blankets over his head and didn't move for a long time. When Rukka went to bed, she nudged his form gently.
"Rul?" she asked carefully. She seemed just as upset as he was, and jealous anger burned hot in his throat. She didn't deserve to feel upset! He was the one who had gotten struck, not her. She was Mother's favorite, and he hated her for it. "Fine," she said bitingly after he did not reply. "Be stupid! You're always stupid! You're the reason Mother always gets mad at you. If you were just better, she wouldn't have to."
His mother came in later that night, pulling him out from underneath his blankets with a tender touch. She pressed cloth and bandages to his wounds in the quiet of the night. She did not say a word to him, but he couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered pitifully. Her claws tightened on his head from where she was angling him.
"You'll be staying home until this heals," she ignored his plea for forgiveness, voice tight. "And you will get better grades from here on out. Understood?"
He did not have to say that he did. Despite his flukes at making friends and poor grades, they both knew he'd rather be at school than with her.
"If only you were like your sister, Rulshkka," she sighed, pressing the bandages a bit too harshly against his skin. He tried to bite back the whimper of pain, but it still escaped him, quiet and pleading. "I wouldn't have to do this to you. This is only because I want what's best for you, you know that? Now that your father is gone..."
Her words trailed off, and she was still for long enough that Rulshkka glanced up carefully. The weak moonlight shone through the window to reflect off her face mournfully. She looked sad.
Carefully, he grabbed her hand with his much smaller claws, squeezing her fingers like he had seen his father do. "I'll do better, Mother, I promise," he whispered, trying to cheer her up. "I know you're only doing this... 'cause, 'cause you love me, right?" He wanted to hear the words again.
But she just stared at him for a long time. She didn't say a word. When she left, Rulshkka stared out the window and wondered why, not for the first time, he didn't deserve his mother's affection.
***
Rulshkka woke with a strangled noise dying in the back of his throat. Something touched the side of his face, sharp and pointy, and he yanked his head away from the offender.
"Rul?" Thruul's sleepy voice broke through his haze, and Rulshkka blinked forcefully to clear the fogginess from his vision. It was the middle of the night; he was in his bed, in his room, in his mansion.
"Yes," he said dumbly. He swiped his hand down his face, pressing his fingers to the smooth skin of his cheek. His wounds had never scarred, thankfully, but he swore he could still feel the hot burn of his mother's claws raking down his face.
Something in his tone must've alerted Thruul, because the cook sat up swiftly. The blankets fell off his shoulders and onto his lap. He looked tired. Rulshkka immediately felt guilt welling up in his throat. The Vokkrus should be sleeping, and here he was, awake because of some worthless, useless -
Stop, he told himself a bit hysterically. That was just a dream.
Of something that had happened, a long time ago. He had only remembered because of Nohkka, because of Rukka.
"Are you okay, my love?" Thruul asked him in a sleepy, concerned whisper. Rulshkka felt his claws brush against his sides hesitantly, and he leaned into the touch. Thruul wrapped him in a tight embrace.
"I am fine," he bluffed.
"Did you have a terror?" his beloved asked him. Rulshkka felt like scoffing, but that would take energy he didn't have.
"I don't have terrors, I'm the -"
"Vokkras can have terrors, too, you know," Thruul said dryly, stealing the words out of his mouth.
"I wasn't going to say that," Rulshkka said stubbornly. Thruul made a hum of disagreement. "I wasn't!"
Thruul chuckled, a sound that went straight down his spine, and Rulshkka found himself relaxing into the warm Vokkrus. When he couldn't stand the silence any longer, he said, "It was just a dream. When I first went to school."
Thruul didn't know the details of his upbringing - Rulshkka, as was obvious, was rather reluctant to even think about sharing the details with anyone, even Thruul - but he had met Korrashkka, had seen her simper after Rulshkka, had seen the bubbling hatred he held for her, and he could guess how his childhood had gone.
"Ahh," he sighed, tightening his hug for a second. Rulshkka wondered what he had done to deserve someone as wonderful as Thruul. "Is this because of what happened with Nohkka?"
"Yes," he replied slowly, unwilling to beat around the bush with 'I guesses' and 'I supposes.' "Do you think it's silly?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think to keep them in. Thankfully, Thruul didn't laugh. He simply shook his head.
With complete and genuine sincerity, he said, "No, I do not think so."
Rulshkka laid back in his bed, swiftly followed by Thruul. He stared up at the ceiling, frowning in thought. "Maybe I could get Nohkka a tutor," he said into the darkness. There was no answer for a heartbeat, and Rulshkka worried that Thruul had gone back to sleep.
"She's a smart little hatchling, m'lord," was his sleepy answer. He rolled onto his side to press his face in Rulshkka's arm. "Maybe she's having trouble in school because she is far ahead of her peers."
The simplicity and logic of the statement astounded Rulshkka. Of course, not everyone would be as... academically challenged as he had started out. Projecting his past troubles onto his niece hadn't been what he had intended to do, but here he was, worrying about her struggling in school when she was excelling instead.
He moved to fling back the blankets and contact Rukka to plan - they could fix this, fix Nohkka's boredom; surely she wasn't the only hatchling who found school dull. Perhaps they could implement classes that challenged them. They already had classes for those who struggled, so why hadn't they done the opposite? Rulshkka was cursing himself for his lack of foresight - when Thruul gripped his wrist in a vice.
"Relax, Vokkra," Thruul murmured, tugging him with semi-shocking strength back into the bed. "Sleep for a little while longer. Then you can go change the world."
Rulshkka huffed good-naturedly. "It wouldn't change the world," he protested.
"It would change a few hatchlings' worlds, then."
That made Rulshkka feel a shimmer of happiness. He curled up beside Thruul and listened as his beloved fell back into sleep. He could wait a few hours before scheming - it was likely that Rukka would have his head if he woke her up, anyway. Still, he couldn't help but think of the barest threads of a plan to better the education on his planet.
He fell asleep, dreaming of papers, pencils, and perfect test scores.