Lucien Calloway.

[luciencalloway]

text || mr. calloway

Emilia: still, maybe you could learn a lesson from the others. how are we supposed to put any trust in you if you can't pretend to expect excellence from us?

Mr. Calloway: So you'd rather I lie to you? That would help you trust me? I thought a girl like you would be able to spot a fake.

[luciencalloway]

emilia-flores‌:

She wasn’t expecting Lucien to be so forthcoming and open about what he was going through. Grief counseling, in her opinion, was supposed to be between a professional and a client. It was supposed to be offered through an objective lens. So sitting across from the very man whose father had been murdered in such a brutal way… it felt strange, to say the least. “See, that would depend, wouldn’t it? – On if you’re bearing through it. And how. I can take your word on it, but… trust hardly seems like the system we should be operating on when there are literally lives at stake.” She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Isn’t that the thing, though? I would imagine that you’ve got a lot to sort through yourself. It isn’t that I don’t think you have perspective. It’s just that I don’t think your specific perspective is what a bunch of teenagers at your late father’s school need following his horrible, brutal death. No offense, or anything.” She knew that she was making her point clear and coming on strong. But at the same time, she did worry that she was making an enemy out of someone who genuinely could be on his side. “So you’re here to… what? Just let us talk through whatever we’re feeling? And do nothing with that information? Tell me why you’re actually here.”

“It’s not like you have to trust me with your life. I’m not asking you for your darkest secrets. Just simply seeing where your head is at. Some people need help but are too afraid to ask for it. If I think you require real attention from a professional, I’d set that up for you. For now, you’re just having a conversation with your teacher. A friend of the family.” Their families were a part of the elite ten. A part of Emperium. The wealthy group that ruled the Upper East Side with an iron fist. No matter if Emilia liked it or not – eventually she’d have to trust the Calloways. She’d have to trust him. Unless she plans on leaving her family’s legacy behind after high school.

“Victrola used to be my home, too. And now it is again. I know exactly how things are here. Do you think you and your friends are any different than me and mine when we attended Victrola? I know about everything. The parties, the secret rooms for hooking up. The traditions. And I know about death. Because yes, it was my father. And yes, maybe I shouldn’t be in my right mind. Shouldn’t be advising my students instead of grieving. But if I can help someone be less afraid… if I can offer someone that refuge, then it would all be worth it. That way we can all heal together.” Emilia was proving to be a difficult case. However, he enjoyed her strength and her opinions. It showed him she was smart and very capable of moving forward on her own. She didn’t come across as weak or vulnerable which was amazing at a time like this. Most students cry, take off from school, pop pills. Emilia seemed put together. Just as well as her outfits.

“What do you think I’m going to do with the information?” he knew what she thought. That he was going to go ahead and write another best-seller. From romance to murder. His publicist would be amazed at such range. He had to admit, it was tempting. A murder mystery… starring New York’s wealthiest children. “I’m here to listen… It’s not healthy to bottle things up. Or to go home and tweet about them only to see a thousand replies telling you, you’re next. The internet is not a safe place. A crowded party with a bottle of vodka, not a safe place. This, Emilia, this is your safe place.”

[luciencalloway]

emilia-flores‌:

Emilia shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to decide if it was really worthwhile to go talk to the grief counselor. Even though it was mandatory, she hardly felt that it was necessary. People grieved in their own ways… and half the students could afford a therapist if they really needed one, anyway. But she’d been told more than half a dozen times that she had to see Mr. Calloway and talk about her feelings, and out of a sense of obligation, Emilia went. She knocked on the door impatiently, only opening it and entering the room when Lucien Calloway invited her to do so.  “It doesn’t have to suck?” she asked, somewhat in disbelief. “Please, by all means, sit there and tell me that talking through everyone else’s feelings about your dead father’s murder doesn’t have to suck.” Either Lucien had a wealth of perspective and patience, or he was a complete and utter liar. “And why is it that we’re mandated to go to grief counseling when you don’t have the training to give us what we need? – assuming that we need anything to begin with. The only thing making me feel unsafe right now is that you, an unqualified person who writes about other people for a living, is getting to know all of our thoughts and feelings and likely not sorting through his own.”

“You’re making my point for me, Emilia. If I can talk you through your anxiety and grief… when it was my father hanging off that statue… then either way you look at it, it’ll suck more for me. So if I can bear through it, so can you.”  Lucien explained with a small shrug. No one had it worse than the Calloways. With everyone staring and whispering and conjuring up rumors on why the headmaster was beheaded in such a medieval way. Lucien knew better than to sit here and tell everyone ‘it’ll be okay in time’ because it won’t be. It might get worse. The thing to tell his students is: that if they hold on, fight through it, then they’ll come out on the other side. They don’t have to let the fear of death cripple them. They don’t have to carry a flask in their schoolbag, fight with each other in the halls, and hide things from their parents. Lucien’s eyes and ears were wide open. As a storyteller himself, he pays attention. The killer wanted chaos and chaos is what he was given. Everyone was panicking and fighting amongst each other.

“I have perspective, Ms. Flores. I’ve dealt with grief, I’ve overcome it. I traveled the world. I’ve been through hell and back. Who would you trust more to give you advice, a person who was taught how to talk to people, or a person who lived through enough shit and knows how to communicate with someone both honestly and emphatically? I’m not here to manipulate you or make you a character in one of my stories. I’m here as a teacher and a friend. Guidance counselor – grief counselor...it’s all just a title. If you’d rather talk to a professional, I could recommend several. This is just for your convenience. You have someone to talk to at school. Someone who will hear you out and have a real conversation with you. Not someone who will start a timer and charge you by the minute.”

[luciencalloway]

text || mr. calloway

Emilia: your insinuation that i only read fashion magazines is insulting, mr. calloway. i thought you were supposed to think the best of your students.

Mr. Calloway: Oh, no, wrong teacher. As a Victrola alumni, I know more than your average substitute. You guys are awful lol.

[luciencalloway]

LOTTIE

The sound of heels echoed through the nearly empty halls of Victrola as Charlotte walked towards the office her brother currently called his own. Class was nearly ending for the day, and the blonde - for some reason - felt the urge to see Lucien. If anything, just to be around someone who shared her woes. She couldn’t stand to be around her mother right now, and they all knew Carter wasn’t exactly an option. Her friends, try as they might, couldn’t make her feel any better either. Who knew what to say to someone who’s father was so brutally murder out in the open? Especially when the killer had yet to be caught? It just led to awkward conversations. Hence the blonde not bringing anything even remotely depressing up when she was in the presence of others. So, in lieu of someone to talk to… it seemed Lucien would do. 

Approaching the door, the youngest Calloway was about to open the door with a dramatic huff when she heard voices murmuring on the other side of it. Pausing for a second, she peered through the window and noticed her brother was sitting with someone. Brows furrowing, considering this looked much more serious than any after school tutoring one would get, she pressed her ear to the solid door and tried to listen. Mostly murmuring, but she could make out a few words. Pictures. Advice. Unsafe. A lump formed in her throat and she tried her hardest to push down any tears that even threatened to spill. Suddenly hearing the sound of shifting on the other side, the blonde stepped back as the door was thrown open and the student left moments later. Locking eyes with her brother, Charlotte walked into the room, her brows still crinkled. “Are you a guidance counselor now? Isn’t that something people need like… a degree in social work for?” Heading over to his desk, she plopped down on the edge of it and let her blue eyes wander around the room. Always a nosey Nancy. “I still can’t believe you’re teaching here. It’s weird as all hell.”

“Come by any time.” Lucien kindly offered the student as they waved goodbye before opening the door to the hall. There was an awkward encounter between the student and Lucien’s younger sister which made him laugh. What was she doing, spying on him? It wouldn’t be the first time he caught his younger sibling with her cheek pressed up against a door with him on the other side of it. It was lonely growing up in the Calloway house. Carter was never around and Lucien and Charlotte didn’t have much in common. Other than pissing their parents off. Though between the two, Charlotte was definitely the wilder one. Lucien was a mama's boy despite their sparring habits.

“That’s something a commoner would need a degree for, Lottie. We’re Calloways. Where most people need signed certificates to do this and that, all we require is money. And that’s something we have in abundance.” Lucien signaled to the seat in front of his desk. But instead of sitting behind it, he sat on top of it. Professionalism wasn’t something Lucien practiced. Even in the classroom, he was all over the place. He was more of a friend to the students than a teacher, or counselor. And just like Lucien, Charlotte seemed more comfortable on his desk than in a chair. He rolled his eyes at the irony. Neither followed the norm. They’d always rebel in any way they could. But neither would ever take it as far as their older brother, Carter. At least Lucien hoped not.

“Yeah, well. After what happened to dad people are freaked. Mom lost half her staff. Anyone related to, or associated with us could be a potential target for this – psycho. How have you been holding up?” Lucien never got along with his father. Most days he’d say he hated him. He’d wish he was gone. He’d tell his mom to leave him. He was a no-good, lying, disloyal prick. And now he was gone. For good this time. “You know I’m here for you right? Part of the reason why I took this job at the school was so I could be closer to you. I worry about you, Lottie. Our genes are… Well, they’re very destructive. Either one of us could end up like Carter, or Dad. We have to look out for each other.”

[luciencalloway]

Lucien didn’t really want to be a teacher. He wanted to write books – interesting books. Which is why he wrote about his turbulent romance with his first love. Now there was a second story in the works. The Upper East Side has a killer on the loose. This unknown assailant promised everyone that he wasn’t finished. He wants the city to be thrown into chaos and so far it was working. People were scared. Half the staff at Victrola Academy cleared out their desks and left. With the shortage of employees, Mrs. Calloway enlisted her son for help. He was magnetic, influential, and a great reader and writer. He knew the language of these kids. It wasn’t that long ago when he graduated from Victrola. But teaching an English class was one thing – playing the role of a grief counselor? He didn’t know shit about counseling but the school needed it. His mother needed him to be whatever, whoever, she asks him to be. So he submitted to her authority again. A grown man and he’s still an obedient, sackless, child whenever she tells him to do something.

So here Lucien was again, out of his comfort zone; hunched into an office chair with a clipboard, and pen in his mouth. How the hell was he supposed to talk about everyone else’s five stages of grief when he has yet to sort through his own? Victor may have been the headmaster at Victrola and an ally to most, but he was his father. Shouldn’t he be the one on the couch? Alas, Calloways weren’t meant to agonize and so Lucien wasn’t afforded the same empathy as everyone else who knocked on the door before entering.

“Yes. Come in. Get comfortable. I know this is mandatory but it doesn’t have to suck.” He laughed. Was that wrong to laugh? Or to say things like ‘it doesn’t have to suck’? He probably looked like a psychopath. “What I mean is, I get it. We’re all scared. Everyone has seen the pictures, watched the news, read about it in the paper… And hell, I’m not even a real counselor. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you… But I’ve been told I’m a good listener… My father used to say that it was because I’m such a good listener that I’m such a successful writer. My entire family used to come to me with their…shit. I don’t know if they ever really took my advice but they kept coming back, so… Maybe I know how to help in some way. So I don’t know… How have you been processing all this? Do you feel ...unsafe?”

[luciencalloway]

text || open

Emilia: all i'm saying is... i'd rather eat glass than read a book on historical feminist theory.

Emilia: what about me says "give me your boring books to read for fun?"

Mr. Calloway: Ok. They're not boring. They're helpful. You can only learn so much from reading your mother's fashion magazines, Emilia.