Heir to Jotunheim | ✔

Chapter Two

Turns out isolation was being forced to sit and complete work by myself for the entire day - kind of self-explanatory.

I was ushered into a small room which had a single row of tables shoved together along the back wall. A divider wall was placed between each chair, splitting each person up so they couldn't see one another.

I saw the back of a girls head, whose bright artificial pillar-box red curls overflowed out of a black hair tie on the top of her head.

"Just sit down Mr Lokison, please."

I slid into the seat next to the red headed girl, and stared at the old computer placed on the table. I shoved my bag under my feet, and slumped in the chair so I could rest my head on my arms.

Already bored, I twisted back to see two teachers sat facing us, with a huge mountain of incompleted paperwork stacked between the pair of them. Me and the mystery girl where the only students in here, and I knew that by the end of the first period I would have gone insane.

After ten minutes of staring at the peeling paint behind the blank screen, I decided to make light conversation. "How was your weekend, Miss?"

The blonde teacher who had directed me to class, and was technically the one who got me in trouble in the first place, snapped her head up. "Silence Tyr. This is meant to be a punishment."

"I was just making conversation-"

"Well don't."

I sighed, and resumed my staring competition with the crack of exposed brick.

A minute later, a neatly folded slip of lined paper was pushed under the divider that sat between the desks. I glanced at it, then tried to peek behind the divider wall between the chairs.

"Mr Lokison, if I have to warn you again-" The same teacher warned.

"Yeah, yeah," I shrugged her glare away, as I unfolded the piece of paper she hadn't noticed was sat on my desk.

'So you're the famous Tyr right?'

I flicked the lid off my pen as I stared at the bubbly handwriting. In the slightly messy cursive I inherited from my father, I replied.

'Depends who you are. Maybe.'

'I'm Cleopatra.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Like the pharaoh?'

I swore I could hear a grimaced sigh as the mystery girl, Cleopatra, read my note.

'Who else could I possibly be named after?'

'Could be worse, you could be named after the Norse God of War.'

I heard a stifled laugh, which quickly morphed into a cough as the teachers chairs behind us squeaked a little. 'Are you serious?'

I smiled as I decided on my reply, 'Would I lie to you, oh complete stranger?'

There was a pause that lasted several minutes after that. I began to revaluate my reply; I should've written something funnier, or nothing at all. I wanted to keep the conversation going though - I was growing insanely bored without it, and even though I hadn't met Cleopatra, I was enjoying her company.

'What are you in for then, oh young God?'

I smirked at the new nickname, feeling some kind of kinship with the girl sat in the booth beside me. 'Late to first period. You?'

Seconds later her paper reappeared, her writing scrawled a little messily this time. 'Apparently the demons in charge don't like unnatural hair colours. I either have to dye it back or stay here until it fades.'