Heart attack. Sudden collapse, they said and the bruising definitely indicated a fierce bout of CPR. Why did three spots feel particularly tender then? Those were questions that floated through his mind as he exchanged pleasantries with the nurses, offering no fuss as his blood pressure was taken, and he was certain to flirt enough to send the eldest ones blushing from the room. They answered none of his questions otherwise, except for one that would relate to his release date, what was on the menu, and what the weather was going to be tomorrow.
When it was clear, his other pressing questions wouldn't be answered, he filed them away. Upon his release, he returned home to a quaint little two-storey house with a rich burgundy paint job where white was the accents. A nice picket fence, neat and well kept gardens, and a small foo-foo dog (bichon frise, thank you very much) named Zola.
He checked the mail box. He sat on the porch watching the coming and goings of the populous ("Good day to you, Principal!", "Lovely weather, Mr. Principal!", "Your gardens are looking tip-top shape, sir!"). There were others beyond the pleasantries, people who seemed to know more than they let on, who had questions without answers. He had nothing but the inkling that there was a matter at hand which required his attention... like a splinter in his flesh he needed to pick at in order to remove.
However, he didn't answer. He observed. He returned to the routine that was expected of him so that he could continue dig for answers subtly. A morning jog with Zola bounding along at his heels. Reading the morning paper with nothing new or interesting. Returning to work as principal of the school and greeting his students each morning ("Tuck in those shirt tails, Mr. Taylor." and "Do you have a problem, Mr. Smith? No, do you want one? Off to class now.").
Alexander took a walk around the school grounds, waving to his fellow staff and recording all the strange blandness of this place. Children were the most honest, but even some of them were shy with answers to some of his more prying questions. Every day, the unsettled feeling grew and he wanted to find answers but each step around the grounds was the same routine.
Option 3: PTA Bake sale
As principal of the school and a supreme organizer of events, he was there as the first one in the morning setting up the tables, organizing where each of the baked goods would go (No, the lovely pies go on that table over there). He kept some of the parents on task until the bake sale kicked off with a flurry of the quaint little town coming to support the event.
And he was there, chatting, ribbing, and encouraging the sales. Where one individual was being too cheap, he encouraged further sales. ("Think of the children whose parents took the time and effort to make such splendid goods! It's our job to compliment and support, which includes purchases!") It was all going so well with the young ones rubbing about with icing smeared on their faces, so hopped up on sugar that he was glad it was a Friday and no school the next day.
The sales were going well with the combined efforts of teachers, parents and children sticking their greedy little fingers into goods while their parents sighed and brought out more coin. He smiled warmly, bent to a knee to speak to the little ones, asking of their days, asking when it would be their turn to try out school and to tell him a joke or show him a trick. Children, after all, were the future and his view was that their skills were best started young. How else would one mold the future to one's liking?
And near the end, he stood with the head of the PTA and addressed the crowd. "I want to thank everyone who came out to support the bake sale this year. It was such a success and we owe it all to your fine people. With these funds, we will be able to make needed upgrades to our extracurricular program!" All smiles, more hand shaking and casual comments.
"Oh, there appears to be one more set of cupcakes left. Who wants to take them home?"
Option 4: Network
I require a handyman or handywoman to assist me in some basic repairs to my shed. It appears a family of raccoons took a brief stay, and they've rather made a mess of the wood.
Alexander Pierce | Marvel Cinematic Universe
Heart attack. Sudden collapse, they said and the bruising definitely indicated a fierce bout of CPR. Why did three spots feel particularly tender then? Those were questions that floated through his mind as he exchanged pleasantries with the nurses, offering no fuss as his blood pressure was taken, and he was certain to flirt enough to send the eldest ones blushing from the room. They answered none of his questions otherwise, except for one that would relate to his release date, what was on the menu, and what the weather was going to be tomorrow.
When it was clear, his other pressing questions wouldn't be answered, he filed them away. Upon his release, he returned home to a quaint little two-storey house with a rich burgundy paint job where white was the accents. A nice picket fence, neat and well kept gardens, and a small foo-foo dog (bichon frise, thank you very much) named Zola.
He checked the mail box. He sat on the porch watching the coming and goings of the populous ("Good day to you, Principal!", "Lovely weather, Mr. Principal!", "Your gardens are looking tip-top shape, sir!"). There were others beyond the pleasantries, people who seemed to know more than they let on, who had questions without answers. He had nothing but the inkling that there was a matter at hand which required his attention... like a splinter in his flesh he needed to pick at in order to remove.
However, he didn't answer. He observed. He returned to the routine that was expected of him so that he could continue dig for answers subtly. A morning jog with Zola bounding along at his heels. Reading the morning paper with nothing new or interesting. Returning to work as principal of the school and greeting his students each morning ("Tuck in those shirt tails, Mr. Taylor." and "Do you have a problem, Mr. Smith? No, do you want one? Off to class now.").
Alexander took a walk around the school grounds, waving to his fellow staff and recording all the strange blandness of this place. Children were the most honest, but even some of them were shy with answers to some of his more prying questions. Every day, the unsettled feeling grew and he wanted to find answers but each step around the grounds was the same routine.
Option 3: PTA Bake sale
As principal of the school and a supreme organizer of events, he was there as the first one in the morning setting up the tables, organizing where each of the baked goods would go (No, the lovely pies go on that table over there). He kept some of the parents on task until the bake sale kicked off with a flurry of the quaint little town coming to support the event.
And he was there, chatting, ribbing, and encouraging the sales. Where one individual was being too cheap, he encouraged further sales. ("Think of the children whose parents took the time and effort to make such splendid goods! It's our job to compliment and support, which includes purchases!") It was all going so well with the young ones rubbing about with icing smeared on their faces, so hopped up on sugar that he was glad it was a Friday and no school the next day.
The sales were going well with the combined efforts of teachers, parents and children sticking their greedy little fingers into goods while their parents sighed and brought out more coin. He smiled warmly, bent to a knee to speak to the little ones, asking of their days, asking when it would be their turn to try out school and to tell him a joke or show him a trick. Children, after all, were the future and his view was that their skills were best started young. How else would one mold the future to one's liking?
And near the end, he stood with the head of the PTA and addressed the crowd. "I want to thank everyone who came out to support the bake sale this year. It was such a success and we owe it all to your fine people. With these funds, we will be able to make needed upgrades to our extracurricular program!" All smiles, more hand shaking and casual comments.
"Oh, there appears to be one more set of cupcakes left. Who wants to take them home?"
Option 4: Network
I require a handyman or handywoman to assist me in some basic repairs to my shed. It appears a family of raccoons took a brief stay, and they've rather made a mess of the wood.