Fieldtrips (George • Casual)

[JANE EYRE]

Outfit

The first fieldtrip that Jane had ever been in charge of was one that would do all of her students good. She had found a ranch, not too far away, that had everything they needed to do some application. There were ranch hands, horses, open landscapes, buildings, and plenty of light. All of her classes would be going, that was about 45 students, and they would be taking one bus which would be a little crowded but Jane wasn't in the mood to complain. As the teenagers, most of whom were barely younger than Jane herself, piled into the car, two of the more polite young men helped Jane load the supplies. She had packed charcoal and graphite sticks, water colors and water color pencils, acrylic paint, paintbrushes and pallets, pens and ink, and chalk and oil pastels. Jane had decided not to do oil paints because the idea of handling turpentine in the 'wilderness' did not appeal to her. All the kids had their own sketchpads for drawing and there was a portfolio of canvas boards and watercolor paper for anyone interested.

As they settled themselves in their seats on the bus, some of them fitting three to a bench, Jane gave the bus driver the directions to the rand and turned to talk to the students. "Alright, everyone, please be quiet for a moment. Adrian you need to sit down. Yes, all the way. Now, when we arrive at the ranch, I've been informed that a Mr. Milton will be giving you some instructions that you will follow. If you don't obey those rules, to the 't' - James put your phone away - you will recieve a week of detention. This is a funcitoning ranch, it is dangerous. I don't want to have to take any of you to a hospital," Jane looked over her students' faces and when she was sure that they got the message, she sat down in a seat next to one of the chaperones, Ledasha Knowles, and pulled out her notebook.

The ride to the ranch was actually relatively tame and quiet, considering she was shuttling through the countryside in a hormone filled tube. The bus driver alerted her when they were close and Jane stood and laid down the law once more. They were to listen to Mr. Milton and they were pack up at 4:20 and be back on the bus at 4:45 to head back home.

She made sure to step aside as everyone rushed past. One of the chaperones lead the way to were Mr. Milton was to meet them. Jane followed with the supplies and worked her way to the front.

[george]

George dusted the dirt off his jeans and slid the stall door's bolt shut. He permitted one last pat on the brown mare's head. She let out a loud snicker, but George ignored her. The horse was a glutton for apples, but the stock was low and he knew that he'd get he'll from the stable owner if he indulged her with any more treats. The least he could do was pet her in sympathy, and even then, he couldn't. Lorne - the stable owner - had assigned George with field trip duty. 

Great. Needless to say, he wasn't a fan of this particular job, but he kept his mouth shut about it. Lorne fired the last guy who kept complaining about his job. George would rather keep his job (especially so soon after being fired from his last job) and abstaining from protesting was the way to do it. He'd decided with much thought about leave Lennie at home to prevent any trouble like what'd happened back in California. He didn't linger on these thoughts, though, and walked on to join the group - an art class, apparently - of a certain Ms. Jane Eyre. 

Once he reached the gathering, George adjusted his Stetson's hat and raised his hand for attention. Once the crowd was more or less settled, he introduced himself. "I'm George Milton, and callin' me George's jus' fine," he said, "and I'm the guy you'll come to for help." He began listing off the rules.

"First rule should come second nature to everyone, and that's to clean up whatever mess you make," he addressed them. "Drinking and drugs ain't allowed, and same goes with cussin'. No radios 'cause that spooks the horses. And that's about it, unless anyone has a question. No? Awright, will y'all follow me this way."

George scanned the crowd and nearly groaned at the sight of all these people. Namely, teenagers. He hoped that these types weren't as rowdy as some of the kids that made their mark at this ranch. He didn't like the looks of those kids, but this was an art class, they can't be that bad. 

"Ms. Eyre?" he called out for the teacher, as he led the class of fifty (or more) towards the stables. Behind the stables would be the stretch of land reserved for this class. It wasn't often used for the trails since there were far too many pebbles and mounds of gravel for the horses to ride around in. The ranch owner would have ordered soil to cover those grounds, but it was a perfect spot to put picnic tables. 

[JANE EYRE]

"Right here Mr. Milton," Jane waddled up to the front of the crowd, still weighed down by the bags and boxes of supplies. The other two students who were helping her to carry things had fallen back with their friends, leaving Jane to manage everything by herself. The site of the open field was wonderful, plenty of room to set up and for lunch. "Now, if you could just tell me where I can set up, that would be lovely," Jane's arms were getting tired from carrying everything. The fact that she was so weak was something that always bothered Jane but she doubted that she could change it now. Her malnourished childhood is what lead to her diminuitive size, and she couldn't go back in time to change that.

The area was quite beautiful. Now that Jane was able to see more of it, it was quite apparent that this part of the state was far more gorgeous than the overbuilt social center. It was quite like Lowood which had it's own stable where students could interact with nature on the weekends. At the same time, it was also like Thornfield because of the land it sat on; Thornfield's stable overlooked part of the Fairfax-Rochester estate. And Mr. Milton seemed quite the gentleman under his heavy accent. Jane realized how odd it must look to her students (who already struggled with her accent and how funny it sounded) to see their British teacher interacting with one who drawled rather than spoke.

[george]

"Right here Mr. Milton."

The person who answered to his call was a British lady who was short of stature. She was plain-looking at first glance, but second glance found more detail. She was wearing an outfit that would suffocate George if he wore that many layers. George tipped his hat, and offered a mellow smile. She was carrying a load of art supplies that held competition in size with its carrier.   

"Here, I'll help carry that," he said, relieving her of some of the supplies. He continued to lead the way to the specified area. Earlier, Lorne'd told him to make sure that these people would keep out of the other guests' way; meaning, to give them the less pleasant part of the hundred-and-fifty acres of the whole ranch. George figured since they were artists and all, they'd be able to make something ugly look decent. 

"I jus' wanta make sure that you keep these kids in line," he said, "'cause the boss doesn't get too happy when he finds things outa place and hair gettin' brushed the wrong way." Meaning Lorne would be downright pissed off if anything was damaged in one way or another, resulting in a consequence directed at whom, he didn't want to find out.

"That whole layabout-" He waved his hand at the general area. "-is where y'all are s'ppose to hang 'round. I'm gonna be in the area to supervise, so if you need anythin', I'll be in hearin' distance."

[JANE EYRE]

"You don't have to worry about the kids, they're going to behave. Their parents wouldn't tolerate anything else," Jane smiled at Mr. Milton reassuringly. When he took some of the supplies, she was more than grateful as she followed him to where they could set the loads down. "Thank you for helping us out, Mr. Milton. I appreciate it," Jane began to unpack the supplies and called to her class. The students gathered around Jane in an obediant circle and waited patiently for her instructions.

"This area is where we have to be, that's it. You aren't allowed to go wandering around. School rules apply as always but there are some new ones you're going to have to follow. Don't leave your trash or materials lying about; this isn't your space to clutter up and it's not Mr. Milton's job to clean up after you. You are going to be expected to do one of three things. You can either make one, well done piece. This means several hours to be spent on one subject. Two, two well developed pieces that you've spent an hour and a half to two hours on each. Or three, several rough sketches. And by several, Devon, I mean more than ten. You will be graded on whatever it is you turn in. Try not to talk too much, because then you aren't truly focusing on your art. I'll let you all know when lunch is," Jane spoke as she sat out the supplies, organizing by type. Entire backets of acrylic paint were set out, stacks of watercolor, and so forth.

Jane moved to the side so her students could move in and get started. "I don't want you sitting right next to someone unless you're drawing them into your piece," Jane added. She crossed her arms and smiled at the teenagers who moved eagerly to begin creating.

[george]

"You don't have to worry about the kids, they're going to behave. Their parents wouldn't tolerate anything else."

George nodded. "That's fine," he said. "Jus' makin' sure. Last kids here tore the place apart and left trash jus' 'bout everywhere." He placed the supplies upon the nearest picnic table. He wondered why it took so many different tools to draw one picture, but he kept the comment to himself, it was best to leave the answer for experts. He wasn't a very artistic fellow and he knew better than to query further about the matter. 

"Thank you for helping us out, Mr. Milton. I appreciate it."

"No problem, ma'am," he replied, "and it's jus' George. The lunch should be ready 'round twelve and the canteen's usually open for the most part."

He watched as the kids gathered around their teacher with little interest. He didn't like kids much because they bothered him. Perhaps it was because he had a bad experience and only met the less-than-pleasant ones or maybe they reminded him a little top much of his younger days. Either way, he preferred to keep his distance from them and their troubles.

Deciding that he'd done his part, George decided not to hang too close or it might bother them or something like that. He couldn't leave the area entirely since a few of the responsibilities of the person on field trip duty were supervising, answer questions and make sure everything was going smoothly like honey on toast. 

"Holler if ya need any more assistance," he told Ms. Eyre before turning to face an empty paddock. There was a wooden fence that surrounded the paddock where horses were brought at times for jumps and their runs. He leaned against the fence, folded his arms, and observed the art class as they concentrated on their drawing.

[JANE EYRE]

"Thank you again, George," Jane nodded at the quiet stablehand. She watched the students disperse silently, each one focused on their art. She was so proud of them; at the beginning of the school year they could care less about creating and now they were calm, focused artists. Some of them had real talent too and Jane hoped that they would go on in life using it to better the world. Several had already started up an art in the community project where they took art to the places where art had been absent for so long. It warmed her heart. Jane waited until everyone had settled with a subject before walking about, offering help and pointing out mistakes. Eventually, Jane had nothing to do besides draw as well.

Jane took her personal pad and charcoal and sat against the fence, near where George was standing but not so close as to bother him. She pulled her legs up until she could prop her sketchpad comfortably and then began drawing. Unlike her students, Jane was creating from an image in her head, rather than just practicing still life or landscape. The image of Aphrodite's birth would not leave her and she wanted to create a modern version. The result was a painfully thin woman with large eyes and full lips, draped in a thin fabric, rising out of a man hole, sewage and fumes spilling around her as overweight children and botoxed women looked on. Jane would glance up every so often to see how everyone was doing. There was an unspoken agreement that the students could go to her for help despite the fact that she was going to be very hands off for this assignment.

Jane tore the image out of her book and set it aside to be sprayed with a fixative later.

[george]

It was peaceful watching these kids and the chaperones preoccupied with their drawings. As previously said, George wasn't an artist, but he had to admit that some of them were pretty. He probably wouldn't visit an art gallery, but he'd seen a share of great paintings. There was that one called Starry Night or something to that effect. Another of his favorites was the one with water lilies. Serene was what they were, and he wondered whether the people who painted them were really proud of their work as they should be.

George uncrossed his arms and patiently observed as the time passed by with nothing particularly eventful. There was the occasional kid asking where the bathroom was at, but that was about it. He raised the lowered hat from his eyes and leaned closer to the polite art teacher, but not within distance for him to disturb her. He took an interest of what she was drawing. She'd ripped out a drawing and placed it next to her. 

It was an interesting design. It looked like some woman coming out of those holes in a street of New York. It demonstrated women trying too hard to look good and children not caring about looking good. The city that was reputed to never sleep was close to what this drawing depicted. It wasn't very akin to his hometown in Salinas. As untrained his eye was when it came to art, he deemed it as pretty good. 

"That's a mighty nice drawin' there," he said, quietly so it wouldn't disrupt anyone too badly.

[JANE EYRE]

George's voice cut through the silence around Jane, softly and carefully. Jane looked up at him and smiled softly. "Thank you," She murmured quietly and looked over at the image lying in the grass. "It could use some work, but I'm happy with it," With a small shrug of the shoulders, Jane turned back to her art pad and the rough image she had begun. She ran her charcoal in a bold line and smudged it with her pinky finger, leaving a petite blurred line. The picture was just a bundle of vague shapes at the moment but Jane could see where everything went. She knew what was the building and what was the person. She was acutely aware of the perspective and of the horizon though they were represented simply by a couple of lines.

"Are you into art at all, Mr. Mil-George?" Jane caught herself before she used the formal address again. A breeze, cool and soft, drifted through the opening where everyone sat and Jane's hair escaped the loose ponytail a little. Jane sat down her tools and reformed the ponytail. She didn't know that she had left a streak of charcoal across her forehead as she pulled back her bangs. Jane was quite used to being messy while creating; more than once she had smeared oil paint on her cheek or pastel on her chin. It was something that she became used to quickly so it didn't even enter her mind that she might have made a mess again. Jane picked her pad and charcoal from the ground and settled back into an appropriate drawing position before continuing. She was drawing on of her students now, as they sat next to the stable and drew an extreme close-up of the wood grain.

[george]

"You're welcome," George replied, "and I reckon it's pretty fine just the way it is." 

He quietly observed as she commenced a new drawing. There was a lot of blurs and smudges that he wasn't sure what shape they were supposed to take up, but it was interesting to watch as a scene was being reconstructed upon a sheet of white paper. It was something, alright. Patient he may be, he doubted that his concentration would be willing to put up with this many hours of perfecting. George was far better at playing solitaire or any card game in general. Years of practice was what helped him perfect his game and art was probably the same way. 

Ms. Eyre then addressed him, "Are you into art at all, Mr. Mil-George?" There was a breeze of hair that passed through, picking up George's hat on the way through. He quickly grasped it and replaced it upon his head. 

"Not especially," he said in honesty, "but I do like lookin' at paintings. Some can be real pretty." 

He crossed his arms and looked down at the young teacher. She was so enchanted by her drawing that she hadn't noticed the rather large smudge of charcoal across her face. He chuckled without meaning to, but quickly stopped. "You got a li'l somethin'," he said, pointing at her cheeck.  

[JANE EYRE]

"A little something?" Jane repeated under her breath. She touched her cheek where George had indicated and frowned at the charcoal that rubbed off onto her finger tips. "Darn it," Jane dug through her bag one handed to pull a mirror from her bag. She looked at the damage, surmised that it wasn't too bag, and went to wipe it off with her hanky and only managed to smudge it more. "Ah well, it seems as if this in a lost cause," Jane joked. It wasn't like she or her students weren't used to the mess. She could at least count her blessings; she wasn't covered in oil paint or linseed oil. Charcoal came off easy enough with soap and water. Jane didn't need to go about cleaning it all up right away.

"Art isn't anything too difficult, if you'd like to give it a try. I'd be glad to conduct a lesson," Jane smiled at George. "It wouldn't be much, just a little, intro to drawing sort of thing, if you're interested," Jane looked over her supplies. Yes, she had enough to teach him without having to venture off for more. He'd have to use her notebook for a drawing surface, but that wasn't too awkward.

[george]

"Ah well, it seems as if this in a lost cause."

George chuckled some more at the sight of the smudge marring her face rather than disappear. The hankie instead disappeared and she no longer was trying to rid herself of the mark, which was probably advisable. Her first attempt had proven unsuccessful, and a small mark was considerably preferable to a large blotch. Sure, it gave her the appearance of a coal miner rather than an artist, but there wasn't anyone around to care about it. 

"Art isn't anything too difficult, if you'd like to give it a try. I'd be glad to conduct a lesson, it wouldn't be much, just a little, intro to drawing sort of thing, if you're interested."

George considered this. It was a known fact that he was terrible at drawing, and crayons were a tool he had a tendency to avoid. Though it was better to have something to occupy his hands and pass time, seeing as these kids weren't causing any trouble. He entertained this thought, and decided there was no harm in accepting this kind invitation. He slid down next to her, careful not to sit too closely, and smiled. 

"I s'ppose that I am a li'l interested," he replied, "and p'raps it wouldn't do me bad as to learn how to draw better. I ain't that great of a student, though, Ms. Eyre." 

[JANE EYRE]

"There is no such thing as a poor student," Jane sniffed primly. She handed George the proper materials. "And as long as you insist on my calling you George, my name is Jane, not Ms. Eyre unless you intend on enrolling at the high school," Jane moved around until she was facing George so that she could instruct him properly. "As I said, drawing isn't difficult and it is suprisingly helpful. It's a good thing that you've an interest," Looking around for an object to begin with, Jane decided to use a dictionary that she had in her purse. Somehow, she had gotten into the habit of carrying it around with her always.

"The basics for drawing are as simple as possible. Obviously, you draw what you see, but you don't think on it," Jane tossed the book onto the ground and readied her own pencil and paper. Jane helded her pencil before her and began to shape the angles. "The very first thing you do when drawing still life, such as this book, is measure the size and determine the angles. Take your time when figuring, angles are one of the most important aspects. Once you're sure of the angle, you sketch it very lightly, holding your pencil loosely. That way, your hand won't cramp and you can erase easily,"

[george]

"There is no such thing as a poor student." 

Before George could utter a cry of protest, supplies were handed to him along with the feeling that he was holding a fish. Not because the pencils and the notepad were wet or cold, but it felt awkward in his calloused hands. These weren't artistic hands, and these tools of that trade weren't meant for tough, farm hands like his. Nevertheless, he accepted the tools as he had politely accepted the young lady's kind offer. 

With a slightly embarrassed smile, George placed the pad in his lap, and couldn't help glancing at the ranch's main area to assure himself that none of the other stable hand's were watching this scene. The wisecracks that he would have to endure if he was seen. He didn't hold much care of what others thought of him very much, but he would prefer not to have the other boys easily recognize his awkwardness and call him on it. 

"Is that right?" he replied with a casual tone with a little tease in it. "There's always room for a first, but I'm all ears for this lesson."

"And as long as you insist on my calling you George, my name is Jane, not Ms. Eyre unless you intend on enrolling at the high school."

Jane. It wasn't a particularly unique name, but George hadn't met a Jane before, and this one seemed to put a good face to a rather plain name. On the other hand, George was a plain name as well, making the two a pair with two plain names. He nearly chuckled at these asinine observations, but such thoughts were quickly discarded of. The pad still laid empty upon his lap with a white surface, unblemished, but dull. Seeing as he'd never before gave a second thought about using a pencil as a drawing tool other than a writing one, his curiosity was piqued as he marveled at how this lady was able to create images simply by using a mundane object. 

George cautiously picked up the pencil with his right hand with a light grip. "Jane it is, seeing as I ain't plannin' to go near a high school anytime school," he said, reflecting upon his own time at the high school back in the small town where he was born. He was a drop out, but he hasn't felt any regret for this impulsive decision so far. "We can leave the formalities for the big shots."

Listening wasn't a hard step, but as he loosened his grip on the pencil, he could feel the hesitation in his hand when he placed the tip on the paper. First of all, he didn't know what to draw, and second, he dreaded to see the results. "Am I doin' this properly?" he asked, despite the fact that he hadn't drawn anything. Perhaps the feeling of awkwardness was due to the fact that he was still holding the pencil wrong. He couldn't help grinning at himself again, and he glanced up at the young lady.

"You seem pretty young to be teachin'," he remarked, "you don't mind my askin' how old you are?" 

[JANE EYRE]

Jane watched George struggle with putting the pencil to paper. It was understandable, art was a far cry from manual labor. "There's no right or wrong way to hold a pencil, whatever is most comfortable. Try leaning the pencil more into your hand," Jane demonstrated. "So that it isn't so vertical," To expediate the process, Jane reached across and pressed the end of George's pencil until it was resting in the juncture of his thumb and forefinger. "It will probably feel rather strange at first, but it should be easy to get used to," Jane paused, realizing that she just took liberty where she shouldn't have. "Beg pardon, I should have asked first," Jane retracted her hand slowly, flushing from embarassment.

"You seem pretty young to be teachin', you don't mind my askin' how old you are?"

"I don't mind at all, I'm 19. I was raised in a border school with an excellerated education. I was certified a while ago. I taught at the school before getting a private job. Following that I moved out here," Jane smiled and shrugged. Not many commented on her age and those did always reacted in a similar fashion. More than once she had been told that it was noble of her, or impressive to have attained such a degree so young. It was usually around that time that Jane would illuminate the differences in European schooling and American schooling. So many made her out to be some sort of educational miracle when she was simply average. Plain Jane. And now, Just George. Jane giggled at the thought. Plain Jane and Just George, what an odd pair.

George was hesitating and Jane was well aware. She diverted her eyes for a bit, scanning over her students, content that there were any large groups and that everyone was working individually. Some of the other stable hands were about, doing their jobs and paying little attention to the students. "Remember, it's just pencil. We can always erase," Jane reminded George softly. It was a wonderful idea, always being able to erase what wasn't good enough. Too bad such a thing didn't apply to real life.