fandomhigh | Japanese Art, Friday, Period Two

This week, the classroom's setup hadn't changed all that much from the week before. A low-set table and some cushions to sit on. But instead of paper sitting on the table, there were bowls of soil and mud from various locations around the island, another bowl with water, and a few hand-towels, enough for everybody. In the center of the table, there was a small dish, with several polished spheres sitting on it.

"This week," Nathan said, smirking faintly, "we're going to be polishing dirt."

Polishing dirt, forming glossy spheres out of it, one of those.

"I'm going to preface this class by saying that you won't finish your project in the time we have available today," he continued. "Dorodango - literally 'mud dumpling' - is a project that requires patience. Hours and hours of patience."

So it was probably a testimony to how much spare time Nathan had on his hands that there were like seven of the things on the dish in the middle of the table, right?

"I'm going to take you through the beginning stages this week, though. If anybody is interested in actually finishing their dorodango, they're welcome to leave with a printed copy of the instructions, or just stay after class to continue working on their mud ball up to the resting point."

He reached in to one of the bowls to grab himself a comfortable handful of mud, and started working it in his hands.

"Step one," he said, still looking somewhat amused, "squeeze out the excess water, and work your handful of mud into a sphere."

Get to it, students. You were performing the ancient Japanese children's art of basically making shiny round mud pies. Weren't you glad you took this class?

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"The closest I've got is currently in the mountains of Japan, wondering where I've run off to," Nathan replied with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Portalocity still hasn't been able to tell me what went wrong with the connection, or why I can't so much as get a letter through. I wish I could be surprised about that."

It wasn't even the first time this had happened to him. Only last time, it had gone the other way and had dragged poor Tony along with him.

Hannibal hummed in sympathy. "Do they not know, or are they being reticent?"

He wasn't above ~~threats~~ politely talking to them on Nathan's behalf.

"I'm not completely certain, though I can't see much reason for them to keep me here on purpose," Nathan sighed. "They've always struck me as more inept than malicious."

Just generally in potentially disastrous ways.

"True," Hannibal agreed. "Well, I hope you're able to return soon. Assuming you want to."

"It's home," Nathan replied, with a little huff that wasn't quite a laugh and a bow of his head. "Of course I want to return soon. But I know by now that the island and I often have very different ideas. With any luck, this will be one of those situations where all the time in the world has passed here, though it's hardly a blink back there."

See? He was Fandom savvy.

"Is that what happened the other time you were here?" Hannibal asked.

"A few times, yes."

Nathan gave a shake of his head, putting another handful of soil onto his ball.

"It happened first when the island pulled me here. And then again when it grabbed myself and a friend of mine from here and sent us both to my reality instead. Which would have been fine with me, but I don't imagine Tony was quite as thrilled to be there."

He'd been shot with an arrow, he probably hadn't appreciated that and the accompanying trauma.

"Tony. Stark?" Hannibal asked. That was the only Tony he'd met here so far.

"Yes," Nathan replied, "and no. I was good friends with a Tony Stark on the island, but he was a different one. Some manner of alternate reality."

Which didn't change how disappointed he was to find out that the Tony here on the island now wasn't the one he'd known.

Hannibal nodded. Then grinned. "How disappointed was he in the lack of wifi?"

"Probably not half as disappointed as he was in the lack of coffee."

Really, he was too traumatized to be particularly disappointed about much, at first. Poor Tony.

Hannibal shook his head. "However did he cope?"

"Honestly, probably sake."

Tony was never going to be a tea sort, after all.

"It was years ago, now, and there was a lot going on at the time. We survived, that's the important part."

Zeb hadn't. Nathan still felt that loss gnawing at him every day, along with so many others.

"It is indeed." Hannibal nodded. "You can do nothing else without that, after all."

Japanese Art, Friday, Period Two

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