Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Fifty-Three: Full Circle, Sort Of
Another day, another Gym teacher. For as long as it lasted, anyway. Kurt tried not to look wistfully in the direction his troupe was, and put up with the amiable questions about the Centaurs while he waited for the new hire to appear and manage the class.
Yes, they had two hearts. Yes, they were vegetarian, but they could eat fish, eggs and dairy products. Yes, most of them lived in the Scwartzwald, Germany. No, they usually didn’t hoof people. Yes, they *were* a lot stronger than humans. No, he was never scared; because they were also pacifists. The smell of blood made them ill.
“All right,” said a pleasant male voice touched with amusement. “When we’re quite done on the comparative biology lessons.” The speaker had their full attention, stretch shorts, a T-shirt, clipboard and a Pez dispenser strung around his neck. “My name is Jarod Endicott. I’ll be your gym teacher for a while. Now,” he consulted the clipboard. “I believe this class was working on elementary gymnastics before everything went a little pear-shaped.”
There was a sussuration of laughter.
“Now,” Endicott continued. “I know a lot of you wouldn’t know a cartwheel for a somersault, so I’ll grade most of you according to the amount of effort you put into it.”
Kurt groaned. He was going to fail.
“And for the seasoned professionals amongst us, I’ll just have to consult with you on how *you* feel your performance is doing. I expect *everyone* to be honest. I *will* catch out all fibbers.” He ate a Pez and grinned. “Now. Who do *you* think is the best here?”
Kurt stood up before the forest of hands could point to him. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“So how long have you been training to be a gymnast Mr–?”
“Wagner,” Endicott pronounced it correctly. Most Americans didn't bother. “How long?”
Kurt huffed a brief laugh. “I never studied to be a gymnast,” he smirked. “I’m an acrobat.”
“Used to be. Every summer.”
“Well, in that case, you can show us the rings. And try not to pretend it’s the trapeze.”
Kurt dusted his hands with chalk and leaped, catching the rings on the first go.
The class gasped. He had to admit, it was quite a jump for a mere mortal, but not outside the realms of possibility for someone who knew what they were doing. He *could* jump higher. *Far* higher, but ordinary people couldn’t, and he had to pretend normalcy whilst under the hologram. Or else.
All the same, he *did* enjoy hurling himself around on the rings. It was almost, but not quite, like home. The Perfectionist only murmured under his breath about imperfections in his traitorous left arm, adding the odd snide comment about sex effecting athletic performance.
Kurt could easily ignore him, this time. There were no predators on his personal radar.
He landed, smiling, and bowed at the applause. Ah, public. What a treat.
“Okay,” said Endicott. “How would you rate yourself?”
“Er. B minus,” said Kurt. “My left arm needs work.”
“B minus it is,” he said. “Now, who here thinks they absolutely suck?”
One hand went up. An asthmatic girl with a pale face and red hair. “I have an inner ear problem,” she said.
“So we’ll put you on the balance beam,” offered Endicott. “It isn't that far to fall, and we can both work out what you can do.”
It had been an interesting lesson, Kurt had to admit. He was almost glad to see the end of it.
“Mr Wagner, a word?”
“You *know* I’m an acrobat.”
“Well, yes. I saw your show last night. Very educational. Especially when your Centaur friend juggled you and your three sisters.”
Kurt grinned. “Most people find that funny.”
“I must say you have a very interesting costume. Isn’t it hot under all that makeup?”
Kurt was very careful to shrug. “I’m used to it.”
Endicott looked straight into his eyes. “I know you’re not who you seem to be. I can keep that a secret.”
Something clicked. It was a recognition of sorts. “You’re not exactly who you say *you* are, either.”
“You don’t move like a teacher,” said Kurt. “You move like a fighter. Someone who’s always on their guard.”
“So do you,” said Endicott.
He had a point. “What do you want, Herr Endicott. If that *is* your real name.”
“Actually, I want your help,” he ate yet another candy. “Can you teach me how to fly?”
“Why me, Herr Endicott?”
“Call me Jarod,” said Jarod. “There’s another circus near Mexico that’s violating basic human rights. I need to pass myself off as an acrobat. A *good* one.”
“There are plenty of good acrobats around, mein Herr.”
“True. But none with a good motive,” Jarod picked up a red notebook from inside a duffel bag on the stands. Inside was a circus poster. “I believe you know the guy running this one. He calls himself ‘The General’.”
Kurt glared at the pictures. “At every available opportunity. Ja. I know him.”
“I believe some of his 'freaks’ are merely mutant children. I need to appear as someone who can do what you do, but - without your physical adaptions.”
“You’re going to do something to him?”
“And how.” Jarod grinned.
“I believe some of the troupe may have a decent practice rig set up on the campgrounds,” Kurt allowed. “I should be free to teach tomorrow night.”
“Why not start tonight?”
Kurt smiled. “I have to take Bluebelle trick-or-treating. It’s her first night; and one of the rare come-as-you-are parties.”
“Ja, man. It’s Halloween.”
Jarod shook his head. “I’ve had a somewhat isolated childhood. Can you explain this phenomenon?”
“He’s late,” announced Jean.
“He’s never late,” said Evan. “Not on Salsbury Steak Day.”
“Well, he’s late.” Kitty chewed her lip. “Um. Isn’t today the day we get that new gym coach?”
A silence decended upon the group. Scott was the first to scan the crowd for any signs of anything awry.
“There he is!” Kitty crowed. She stood and raced towards him. The second she reached him, she nearly flying-tackled him.
“*Katzchen*…” Kurt laughed. “Do you mind? It’s Salsbury Steak Day…”
Kitty had to laugh. “We were *worried* about you, elf. What were you *doing* all this time?”
“You won’t believe me.”
Kurt smiled. “I believe I already did that.”
Kitty mock-punched him. “Just tell me what you were doing…”
“Believe it or not, I was explaining Halloween to Herr Endicott.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Honest truth,” Kurt crossed his heart. “Herr Endicott is a very strange man. He’s just discovered Luck Trolls.”
“You are *kidding* me.”
“Nein, liebchen. He said they were a fascinating idea. A -er- what was the phrase? 'Interesting modern totem’.”
“He like, *said* that?”
“Shuddup,” said Logan.
“That’s you’re Halloween costume?” laughed Ororo. “What on *Earth* posessed you?”
“Lost a bet with Poindexter.”
Hank was sniggering in a corner. “Oh, tweed is *you*, dear. Absolutely.”
Jamie just re-entered his hysterics.
“I *said* shuddup, squirt.”
Even Charles had a hard time containing his laughter. “I’m sorry,” he giggled. “I can’t help myself.”
“At least it’s gonna be the 'in’ costume this year,” Logan sighed.
“What?” said Jubes. “Boffo the Clown’s Mom?”
Logan growled at her. It had no effect because he was wearing the following: One tweed skirt with matching jacket, one nice pink blouse, trimmed with lace, a pearl necklace, black high heels, and a little pillbox hat over a steel-grey curly fright wig. He hadn’t bothered to shave.
“No,” he said. “I’m Hess.” He pulled a fake bloody knife out of his purse. “See?”