Chapter Text
Finding a proper French course in London, John found, was a long, tedious and unrewarding job.
As John walked out of Remie’s Teaching School, he cursed a blue streak. This was the fifth time he’d thought he’d found a course only to discover how wrong he’d been.
He’d had a trial class with a teacher whose class turned out to be for Spaniards who wanted to learn French.
He’d had a run in with a teacher who would not stop picking on him because he’d told John that he reminded him of his ex.
And now, his most recent failed attempt, had been with “Remie” who was one of those Arabs who didn’t know her P’s from her B’s. Poor John had had to suffer through an hour long trial of “bomme”, “barabilluie” and freaking “boulet”.
Exasperated, John ran a hand through his blonde hair. He had one last place on his list. He could either go home and sit in his room being sorry for himself or he could pick up his pace and make it to the next trial session he knew was scheduled.
Steeling himself, he stood straight and started walking.
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John really was quite lucky he’d decided to pursue learning a language early in his summer holiday since most institutes were opening their beginner classes for the year. If he could just find a damned place to learn the damned language first…
John pushed The Bee Institute’s door open and stepped through. The building was not very large but the inside was spacious and tastefully decorated.
The walls were a warm golden shade, the precise shade of dripping honey; the chairs were a sturdy, shiny oak while the receptionist’s desk was a dark mahogany that surprisingly complimented the oak; the few paintings on the wall were of gorgeous green woods that seemed to stretch on endlessly, oaks, majestic cedars, wispy willows, dark boughs heavy with leaves. But the largest painting’s main purpose seemed to be to emphasize the golden beehives hanging from 3 of the trees, their bright colour stark against the dark background behind them.
Well, John thought. At least it looks better than most of the other places I’ve tried so far.
He walked up to the desk and politely cleared his throat. The receptionist looked up at him with clear blue eyes.
“Hello, excuse me. I’m here for the trial session for the beginner’s class.”
She smiled, the smile of someone who knew something you didn’t. The smile of someone who pitied your life choices.
She pointed to a hallway behind them. “Down the hall and turn left. It’s the red door after the toilets.”
“Thank you,” John replied, smiling.
“I doubt you’ll be thanking me after your class,” she answered and only then did John recognize the emotion behind her smile; Pity.