Sitting in the British Literature classroom was a man who could have been mistaken for a student. Though he was sitting at the teacher's desk, he had his sneakered feet propped up on it, crossed at the ankles as he boredly sifting through a stack of papers. His dark gray pants were baggy, and covered in zippers and pockets, and he wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, an assortment of vividly colored paint streaks covering it. Occasionally, he'd reach up to run a hand through the strands of dark brown hair that fell over the side of his face, brushing them behind his ear, or look up from the papers as people passed by in the halls.

Faces are made at anyone who dares to stop and peek in.

"Bonjour, mes étudiants!" A youthful looking man walked into his empty classroom.

...Hmmm, that didn't feel right.

"Helllooooo, kids!" A youthful looking man sidestepped into the class with jazz hands.

....Nope. Not feeling it like this either.

"♪~Good morning, Good mooorning!~♪" A youthful looking man sang as he Russian kick danced into the-okay now that one was just ridiculous.

With a groan, he stomped his foot onto the classroom floor, showing frustration as he walked over to his desk at the front. He was planning his epic entrance during his first day of teaching, but he just couldn't figure out the perfect one. Maybe it wasn't him? Maybe it was just first-time nervousness, kind of like when he's about to sleep with a virgin for the first time.

....Good times.

But anyways, could it really be because he was nervous? No, that couldn't be it. This was Fujisawa Kiyoshi! He worked with sharp objects and hot irons for a living (aside teaching of course), there was no way he could be nervous!

[ooc: sorry for disappearing suddenly. ;; stuff came up. I should start to get back on track now.]

David hadn't had much to move into his room, really. Most of his things had to fit into what luggage he could take on the plane with him, though he'd had a few boxes shipped ahead. He'd taken a break from moving in to look around the school a bit, and when he came back he decided it was probably best to get things unpacked as much as he could before there were too many things going on for him to concentrate on it.

So there's a small, English boy digging through boxes in his room with the door open, iPod cycling through Rufus Does Judy at Carnegie Hall as he sings along.