Chapter Text
It was late spring and the Wynstone Academy theater students were preparing for their final performance of the year. That also meant that it was time for instructors to find out how much money, if any, was being allocated toward their respective departments. Lyra Everdale, head of the athletics department, sat outside the office of the academy president and attempted to make out who he was speaking with. She held several photos of the archery team in her hands as her knees bounced up and down. If she looked close enough she could see the frayed collars of the shirts and ever shortening hems of the slacks. Lyra had worked tirelessly this last year to recruit more athletes, but it seemed an insurmountable task when the academy cared more about the fine arts than it did athletics.
“Come on, Lyra,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve got this.”
Lyra stashed the pictures in her bag, wiped her sweaty palms on her lap, and stood up as the office door opened. The murmurs grew into loud laughter as Mr. Enclare, the academy president, and Astarion Ancunin, head of the theater department, strode through the door.
“I’ll be sure to make sure you have everything you need,” Mr. Enclare said as he shook Astarion’s hand. “And thank you for all you do for this academy.”
“It is my pleasure as always,” Astarion smiled. “I look forward to seeing you in the audience tonight.”
“Fantastic,” Lyra groaned. If history had proven anything it was the athletics department always came second to the theater department. It didn’t bode well that Astarion had his meeting with the academy president before she did.
Astarion turned to leave and glanced at Lyra as he passed by.
“Everdale,” he grinned like someone who was privy to a juicy secret.
That smile made her blood boil, but in an effort to remain professional, Lyra gave a curt nod. “Ancunin.” Her glare continued to bore holes into the back of his head as he sauntered down the hall.
Mr. Enclare’s sing-song voice cut through Lyra’s daydream of Astarion slipping on the shiny waxed floor and landing on his ass. “Ms. Everdale.”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry, sir.”
“Please, Lyra. Come in and have a seat,” Mr. Enclare said as he walked into his small, but immaculately kept, office. Lyra sat down in a padded chair across from her boss.
Mr. Enclare sat down in his chair and started shuffling some papers around on his desk. “I have to say,” he started. “I’m impressed with the number of students you recruited to the athletics teams this past year.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lyra nodded, folding her hands in her lap.
“The archery team even placed in the top three in the last tournament,” Mr. Enclare said with an air of admiration.
“They all worked hard. I’m very proud of them,” Lyra smiled.
“Me, too. But…”
Lyra swallowed with an audible gulp and held up her hand. “But it wasn’t enough for you to justify investing any money into my program,” she sighed.
“I’m sorry, Lyra. I can’t see putting money into a program that isn’t helping the academy as much as others.”
Lyra nodded again, fighting the stinging sensation in her eyes. She reached into her bag to pull out an envelope and the pictures of the archery team beaming after their huge win.
“What’s this?” Mr. Enclare asked as Lyra slid the envelope and pictures to him.
“My resignation,” she declared as she stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I will not be returning as the head of the athletics department.”
Mr. Enclare cleared his throat. “I’m, I’m sorry?” he stammered.
Lyra looked him in the eye. “I will not be returning next year in any capacity. I cannot continue to devote my time and energy to an institution that refuses to invest in all of their students. It’s disheartening to say the least.”
“You must understand, Lyra,” her boss implored.
Lyra felt her cheeks and ears flush with anger. “What is it exactly that I’m supposed to understand? That you somehow magically have enough money for a grand piano for the theater department, a new kiln for the fine arts department, but you can’t be bothered to make sure your athletes have equipment that won’t fail them. Or that they look well put together when they represent YOUR school all over the realm?!”
She paused to steady her trembling voice. “That makes absolutely no sense to me, sir. You have consistently shown your unwillingness to support all aspects of student life here and I’ve had enough.”
Mr. Enclare’s jaw fell open just enough for Lyra to believe he was surprised with this revelation.
“And what of the rest of this year?” he wondered.
“I will finish the rest of this academic year,” she replied as she tapped the pictures on the desk. “But in the coming years I hope you do better by all of your students. Not just the ones with the charming theater director.”
Lyra turned and opened the door to leave before her frustration got the better of her. She left the door open as she strode out of the office.
Lyra stormed through the hallways toward the gymnasium, dodging students that were rushing between the stage and the music room to ensure everything was in order for a flawless show lest they hear about from Mr. Ancunin afterward.
“Ancuin,” she fumed under her breath. She kicked open the door to her office, grabbed her bow and quiver, and made her way to the archery range. As she took aim with an arrow she envisioned Mr. Enclare’s face on the bullseye.
“This is for always siding with the finer arts department.” She released the arrow and it found its way to the center.
She drew back another arrow, steadied her aim, and let the arrow fly. “This is for the students that have been shortchanged by the bureaucracy.”
“And this,” she sniffled as she drew a third arrow back. “Is for 10 years of consistently making me feel like less of an instructor by not giving me the tools I need to help my students.”
Lyra lowered her bow and stared at the three perfectly placed arrows in the center of the target. She sniffled again as she retrieved her arrows and slid them back into the quiver. Taking a deep breath, Lyra went back inside.