ArchivedLogs:Making Arrangements

Making Arrangements
Dramatis Personae Iolaus, Sebastian	2013-06-09 '
Location <XS> Classroom Two
Acrid scents of chemicals sting the nostrils upon entering this classroom. Tall tables are set up in clusters, small torches attach to their sides, though they can be de-attached and stored beneath the desks at lessons' end. The chairs here are high, and come on wheels. Around the edges of this room are plentiful cupboards, many of them locked. The edges of the room hold sinks, as well, some of them carefully labeled. The front of the room has a number of whiteboards, though it lacks a teacher's desk. The whiteboards are covered, top to bottom, in a series of long chemical formulas and complicated molecular structures. It looks quite like Iolaus has made himself at home in front of the classroom, a computer sitting on one of the chairs nearby. On the screen are notes pulled up from his previous classes and a list of notes for the class he is planning on teaching - albeit, the grad school lecture notes are a little bit more complicated than what is ending up in his current class plan, but that is only to be expected. Iolaus, though, is neither at the computer nor at the whiteboard. He is standing not too far from the windows, cell phone pressed against his ear. "I understand. Well, did he say /why/ he was--" The person on the other end starts talking, and Iolaus cuts himself off, only to dive back in a few moments later. "Well, that's no reason. /All/ of it, you said?" A pause. "Shit." The door opens, quietly. Sebastian has gotten used to a lot of quiet slipping around. At the moment he has a small stack of paperwork, tidy-neat and all carefully marked with colourful post-it tabs for Iolaus's signature. Or initials. Or more signature. Hum hum. He also has a plate of /food/, lunch from the kitchen. Leek and potato soup, grilled asparagus and red peppers, chive-y chicken breast and peas over a bed of orecchiette pasta. And a tall glass of water. He sets all of these down on the teacher's desk, and then -- waits beside it, stack of papers tucked into his arm. "Yeah, I understand. Alright. Is there any chance that Mark can pull it out?" Iolaus asks, and turns to look at Sebastian. He gives the teenager a quick smile as he continues. "Yeah, alright, I figured. I'll go myself. I'm not starting teaching for a few days. Can you pass the information along to 'Bastian and he can arrange things? Yeah. Thanks, Melissa." Iolaus hangs the phone up with a press of his thumb and pockets it. "Hey, 'Bastian. How are you doing?" he asks, giving the teenager a smile, clearly waiting politely. Bastian raises his eyebrows questioningly, nodding to the phone. In lieu of answering the question he quietly presents the stack of papers -- on a clipboard! -- and a pen to Iolaus. "Your five pm's been rescheduled to Tuesday." "You're going to have to clear my calendar," Iolaus says, softly. "We have a bit of an emergency. I need you to arrange a trip for us to Berne to meet with a donor who just pulled their donation," he says, accepting the clipboard from the younger man and signing and initialing where it is indicated. He doesn't even read the documents for more than a brief look at the title and any numbers on the page before he scribbles his signature on it. "Leaving tomorrow early morning, meeting on Sunday and then returning then or Monday - hopefully, with the three million dollars again." "Yessir," Bastian agrees, kind of rote in the filing-this-away sort of tone. "Berne, tomorrow mor --" He stops, then, blinks. Frowns. "/Berne/? Berne like Switzerland?" "Yes, exactly." Iolaus pauses for a second, considering, eyes sliding to the side. "I think there's a Berne in Germany, too, though." He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at Sebastian. "The donor is the owner of a financial company there. He's not talking to Mark anymore, so I'm going to him." "Yessir," Bastian says this again, but slower. "I can make your arrangements straightaway." There's a long hesitation. He looks down at the papers and then back up at Iolaus. "But I can't come -- I don't have a passport. I can't get one by the morning." Iolaus frowns at Sebastian in a surprised expression. "You don't have a passport?" He chuckles. "I have two. Three, if I wanted, but I don't need a Mexican passport all that often." He nods, once, twice, frowning at the teenager. "Alright. Make the flight for Tuesday, then, returning Thursday. Monday, you can go to the passport office and get a passport rushed." "I've never left the country," Sebastian answers with a shake of his head. "Doctor --" He hesitates, nodding. "I'll make the arrangements, Doctor, and I can go to the passport office /today/, there's time still. I just -- don't think that. I think it'd be better if I just made appointments for you and Ms. O'Toole, sir. I think buying myself a ticket will just waste money." "You think they'll turn you away at the border with a return ticket in hand?" Iolaus asks, softly, looking down at the teenager with a moment of hesitation. He looks surprised, as if he himself didn't think of this, but plows ahead in a moment anyway. "Well. If you /want/ to make the attempt, book yourself a ticket. If not, don't. Either way, a passport is a useful thing to have, and the clinic will pay the fees." "I think they well might, sir," Sebastian allows simply, "but I think it's more likely I won't get a passport in time, and more likely still that if I do they won't let me /on/ the plane here in the first place. We tried to fly once, and that was only domestic. It still didn't go well." Iolaus' lips thin and he reaches forward, resting a hand briefly on Sebastian's shoulders. "Well. If the passport office gives you any trouble, call Cohen and Klein, and they can help get that straightened out. And, in the future, I can always simply say that you are my patient and make up some story. I bet I can get you on the plane and into a country, if it becomes necessary. This time, though..." He gives a little shrug and smiles at Sebastian. "Book the travel for tomorrow, then." "Yessir." Sebastian's shoulder is stiff, as is his quick nod. "I'll arrange that now, then." His lips compress. He looks again at the clipboard of documents in Iolaus's hand. A little more pointedly. But then: "-- Three million dollars, sir?" Iolaus looks back down at the papers and, with an apologetic look, begins resigning them. "Three million dollars. One million dollars due at the end of the month, and another two after the clinic opens. We used the promissary note as collateral on the loan, despite it being reversable." He shakes his head, flipping a page and tsk-ing for a moment before signing at the bottom. "One of our larger donors, certainly. Not our largest, but... painful." Sebastian draws in a slow breath. "Right. I should -- go check your dry cleaning too, then." His expression is a little distant, a little thoughtful. "What happens with the loan if this falls through?" "Nothing. It just means paying it back is that much more difficult, and we may have to add some principal to the end." Iolaus' lips curl upwards in a wry smile. "Or just find another donor." This is said so casually, as if he was looking for someone to give $5, not $5,000,000. He even includes a little no-effort toss of his hand, and a wink. "Oh. Is that all." Sebastian doesn't quite smile. There's a small tug at the corners of his mouth, but it doesn't actually resolve into anything. He holds his hand out for the clipboard. "How's your lesson plan coming, sir?" Iolaus gestures behind the teenager to the whiteboard. "Oh, I'm relearning some of what I've forgotten," he says, with a laugh. "It's been a long time since I took intro to molecular, and I need to tune the plans down a bit. I've only ever taught college and grad school, you know." he says, eyes twinkling. "I suspect this will be at the lower college level, though. I've got some pretty advanced stuff I'd like to get through, if the students are up for the challenge." "A couple of them will be. Not many." Sebastian shrugs a shoulder, turning his gaze towards the whiteboard. Only briefly. Soon his attention returns to the clipboard which -- now he just reaches for. Tug. Tug. Gentle tugs. To work it out of Iolaus's hand. "But the ones who'll take it during summer session are going to be serious about it, at least." "Will you be one of them?" Iolaus asks, curiously, gladly relinquishing the clipboard of EVIL back to better hands. "I haven't gotten the student list yet from the school. I don't know if I am teaching three or thirty or three hundred." he says, a chuckle in his voice. "Well. Probably not three hundred. I know that much, at least." "There aren't three hundred students in the entire school," Sebastian reassures Iolaus. "But, yes. I will be one-third of your class." He folds the clipboard back in against his chest, arm curling around it. "Is there anything else you need, sir? You should eat, before your lunch gets cold." "No, that should be it. Thank you, 'Bastian." Iolaus says, sitting down on a spare stool and smiling at the other man. "You are doing far better at this job than I thought you would be, Sebastian." he confesses, quietly. "It is going to be hard to give you up for the actual medicine and science. But..." The doctor's grin splits his face and he flashes a toothy smile at the teenager. "Don't worry. I will." "I told you I would." This should probably sound smug, or bragging, or -- anything. But it's just quiet, a little listless. "But thank you, sir." Sebastian turns to go. "Thank you, Sebastian." Iolaus says. He does not immediately turn to the food, watching the younger man leave the room with a curious expression on his face that remains long after the teenager has left the room and he has begun eating.