Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oi. What do ya mean we have a new teacher comin’?” Jamison asked incredulously, his eyebrows furrowed and leaning forward in his seat. He spared a ferrety glance around at the other teachers, looking for some form of confirmation. “What happened to the last bloke that were ‘ere? He jump ship or somethin’?”

Torbjorn, otherwise known as Mr. Lindholm, otherwise known as head of the Art Department of Overwatch High School, let out a deep sigh of resignation as he stood up in the middle of a semicircle of chairs. Him and the other teachers in this particular back-to-school meeting comprised of all the faculty that spear-headed the Art Department. It was already quiet in the too air-conditioned orchestra room they were occupying, but the expectant gazes of his coworkers made the very atmosphere around him heavy.

Tentatively, Torbjorn ran a calloused hand over his face and let out another sigh. “Jack made a deal with Vishkar, saying something about how the school ‘needed the upgrades’ and that they would help in flipping the bill if we would allow one of their own have a teaching position here.”

Brigitte didn’t miss a beat. “Wait wait wait… Did you just say Vishkar?” The young woman, setting her espresso on a nearby table, raised an eyebrow as she reclined back into her chair, arms crossed. “As in Vishkar the animation studio? What do they want with us? We mainly focus on more traditional art and photography here.”

“That’s what I said,” Torbjorn harrumphed, throwing an arm in frustration as he began to pace back and forth. “But it doesn’t matter. Vishkar told Morrison that the best way for students to get into prestigious art schools is for them to have experience in ‘various forms of art’,” he explained, using exaggerated air quotes. “Well, it would seem that now includes digital art…” There was a pause as the frustration in Torbjorn’s face steadily began to drain. “… But, if that’s what’s best for the students, then I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Torbjorn looked up solemnly from his shoes to the teachers gathered around him. The Art Department wasn’t big, but it consisted of some of the best professionals in their crafts.

Mako Rutledge taught Painting and Art History. The colossal New Zealander was intimidating to say the least, but the man paradoxically knew how to handle a paintbrush comparable to the Queen handling her oldest and most prized teacup. As a fellow of few words, his history lessons are brief but to the point. He would occasionally include random fascinating facts and tidbits here and there for the benefit of his class, hoping his students will enjoy them.

Jamison Fawkes taught both Beginning Art and, oddly enough, Advanced Drawing. Despite hailing from Australia’s harsh Outback, the eccentric man had on him a pair of astonishingly steady hands that had earned him many accolades for his work and, most impressively of all, landed him on the monetary receiving end of various successful auctions. He was, at least within the halls of Overwatch High, well known for his talent in drawing portraits when he wasn’t busy pulling up speed drawings on YouTube to strike inspiration within his students.

Torbjorn’s eldest daughter Brigitte Lindholm taught both Photography and Journalism. Believing that the confines of a classroom was the antithesis towards her curriculum, a great many of her classes were held outside on various spots around the school’s campus. The rare times she held classes indoors were either due to unfavorable weather or if the students had to take a standardized test. Whenever that happened, she would usually occupy herself by Photoshopping her students’ attendance pictures together on the projector for all to see. Then, whenever she so much as heard a snicker, she would playfully scold the offending party for not focusing on their assigned task.

And then there was Torbjorn Lindholm himself, who taught both Ceramics and Clay Work. The seasoned Swedish man had been teaching the class since the doors to Overwatch High School first opened and had no plans of retiring any time soon. Much to the amusement of some of the faculty, the stout man carried around the loud, booming voice of the Norse God of Thunder. But, whenever the man was throwing (shaping) clay on the potter’s wheel, his thick, meaty fingers were gentler than the soft beat of a butterfly’s wing. The boisterous man took immense pride in his work and moved accordingly. No soul but he is allowed near the kiln because, in his own words, he was “the only one that can handle the heat”.

“I ‘pose they gonna be takin’ the room between Brig an’ me, yeah?” Jamison asked, teetering back and forth on the back legs of his own seat. “That’s were what’s his nuts plopped himself last year.”

“Ay,” Torbjorn answered, methodically stroking his luxuriously braided beard. “On the plus side, with her curriculum focusing on digital art, we can finally put that computer room in the back to some good use. Speaking of which,” he added as a matter of fact, his gaze drifting upwards towards the ceiling in thoughtfulness, “I should probably give that room a good dusting out before-”

“HER?!” Jamison and Brigitte spoke at once, both simultaneously going rigid in their seats with the former nearly losing his balance.

Torbjorn tensed at the sudden outburst and turned to give the pair a furrowed brow. His suspicious, narrowed eyes darted back and forth between the two momentarily before he answered.  “… Ayyyy? Is that going to be a problem?”

Jamison adjusted his posture from where he was lent, hoisting himself all the way forward in his chair after resituating himself. “Nah mate,” he answered, a shrug to his shoulders. “I guess I kinda just got so used t’Brig bein’ the only Sheila ‘round ‘ere is all... Well, least ‘ere in the Art Department, that is…”

Mako Rutledge, who had been silent up until this point as he read a book while lounging in the Music teacher’s leather armchair, turned towards Jamison and let out a gruff chuckle. “Good save, ya prat. Was ‘bout t’tell Nan, Angela, Zarya an’ Mei ya didn’t count ‘em as birds,” he chuckled, before idly flipping a page.

Brigitte looked over at her father with a sparkle in her eyes whilst Jamison threw a middle finger towards his friend. “Another woman… Papa, Vishkar is male dominated, as most animation studios are these days.” The young woman said this with a faint sneer on her face and rolled her eyes. Then, as quickly as the downcast look appeared, it was replaced with a look of pure joy and excitement. “She must be extremely talented! Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

Jamison dug his peg leg into the carpet to make his sixth circular indent in a row. “I guess… Just hopin’ she ain’t gonna end up bein’ a snob or somethin’. I feel like everyone from those fancy bloody studios are, ya know? All up ‘em selves an’ everythin’, the lotta ‘em...”

“Ay," Torbjorn agreed, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think I could handle that on top of all these new developments. Too many waves can wreck the sturdiest of boats, after all.”

“So,” Mako began, calmly setting his book down on his armchair’s arm rest, “do we have any idea when this mystery woman is gonna make an appearance?”

Torbjorn visibly racked his brain before answering. “I believe Jack said Vishkar would be sending a team to drop off her necessary software a week before school starts,” he began measuredly, making sure he was remembering correctly. “ Apparently, she needs some of the newest computer hardware for her teaching. Organizing it and what not. I think Jack also said they’re flying her out from India. Apparently she’s working on a project right now, so we won’t meet her until...” Torbjorn paused to do some quick math in his head. “…the day before the first day of school, perhaps...”

“Strewth,” Jamison whistled, rubbing underneath his chin. “Cuttin’ it kinda close there, aren’t they?”

Torbjorn shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t up to me. Jack agreed to Vishkar’s terms, so it was good enough for him, if nothing else.”

“Hmmmmmm. That IS cutting it rather close,” Brigitte said uncertainly, echoing Jamison. “All it would take is one delayed flight, and she could very well miss the first day of school. That wouldn’t look good on her, would it?”

Again, Torbjorn merely shrugged. “I’m sure Jack knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s neck-deep in talks with them, being kept up-to-date with everything that happens… Let’s just focus on our own classes until then, yeah?”

Jamison rolled his eyes at Brigitte. “Oh please. If this woman is a good as ya all are paintin’ ‘er t’be, I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes ‘ere on a Vishkar-owned private jet…” An erratic cackle suddenly emanated from the Australian’s throat before he clapped his hands together. “A private jet in the staff’s parking spaces. Now THAT’S somethin’ I’d love t’see!”

Chapter Text

The art hall was on the second floor at the very front of Overwatch High School.

Torbjorn let out a stiff groan as he stretched the morning stiffness out of his joins. As he began his trek towards his classroom, he decided to, for what had to have been the hundredth time in all his years as a teacher, stretched his toes to look over the balcony and mentally praised the architect that designed the building. Designing the art hall to be the first thing other than the front office to be seen was, in his humble and professional opinion, such a masterful maneuver of the architect’s part. This way, he and his fellow art teachers could proudly display their students’ work where anyone who entered the school, or passed by it on the street, could see it.

He nodded in approval at the Welcome Back sign he and his coworkers created and inhaled the early morning school air conditioning, allowing himself to savor the clean crispness of it all before throngs of hormonal teenagers raided it. A cup of black coffee in hand, Torbjorn began his trek to the history hallway to haggle his oldest friend Reindhardt before it was time to allow students in.

Mid-way down the hall, the sound of crisp heels striking against the marble floor on the level below him gave him pause. There were only a handful of teachers who arrived at school this early, and he knew who those few were. None of them were situated in this sector of the campus or, for that matter, wore heels. So, seeing as how the sounds of clacking heels were growing louder, the stout Swede leaned against the rail and took a long, lingering sip from his scolding coffee and waited.

Seconds later, one half of the double doors swung open with an impressive gust of air, where Overwatch High’s newest art teacher made her entrance.

The Indian woman held the door aloft with one arm while she pulled a small expensive suitcase behind her with the other, that arm being a sleek and freshly polished high-tech prosthetic. Her radiant and shining jet-black hair was done up in a low-hanging bun so tightly, Torbjorn wouldn’t have been surprised if it was being held together by a length of piano wire. The woman’s sharp deep hazel eyes fell onto him, appraising him, just as he was currently doing to her. Her attire also matched the severity of her hairstyle; a meticulously-pressed and smoothed out robin egg-blue dress suit, a skirt that went a few inches down pass her knees, black leggings and a pair of recently-buffed black stiletto heels. Though, surprisingly, one noticeable stand-out from the woman’s overall stuffy and business-like attire was her gleaming golden nose ring, who’s glimmer had momentarily derailed his thoughts.

It took a moment for Torbjorn’s brain to play catch-up with itself, seeing as he had been preoccupied with thoughts of the beginning of yet another school year. But, finally, thoughts of the meeting between Overwatch High’s art teachers suddenly flashed across his mind’s eye, causing him to jolt with sudden realization. “Oh! You must be Ms. Vaswani,” he blurted, jolting at attention. “From Vishkar, yeah?”

The woman in question merely stood across from him at first, cooly appraising the stouter man with lazily raised eyebrows. After what felt like a whole minute of silence, Satya slowly stiffened her posture and nodded her head ever so slightly. “Indeed. I take it you are Mr. Lindholm, yes?”

The man immediately shuffled over to her, coffee sloshing in his mug, and offered his hand. “Bah, Mr. Lindholm is for the kids. You can call me Torbjorn,” he assured, grinning good-naturedly.

The woman’s eyes momentarily widened at Torbjorn’s abrupt approach, her fingers doing a quick, uncomfortable skittering dance on her suitcase handle instinctively. Though, to her credit, the awkward episode was subtle and quick, going completely unnoticed by the cheerful Swede before her. Recovering quickly, Satya took an equally quick fortifying breath before she hesitantly slipped her hand into his, where he gifted her a hearty shake. “… Then you may call me Satya,” she offered, a slight unease to her tone.

Torbjorn nodded his head and turned with a curl of his fingers that beckoned her to follow him.

“I was on my way to visit an old friend before they let those rampaging rascals in,” he began off-handedly, trundling his way down the stretch of hallway with the unsure Satya trailing behind him. “But showing the new teacher around would be an honor.” Torbjorn then took a moment to clear his throat. “This here is the hallway of the Art Department. On your left would of course be the balcony,” he began, waving a hand at the unremarkable railing with comedic flourish. “My favorite balcony in the school if I’m being honest. Splendid view, any time of the day.” He then swung his arm to the other side of the hallway, directing Satya’s attention to the line of classrooms. “On your right would be the art classrooms. Mine is here at the start of the hall. Or end, depending on how you see it. Next would be Jamison’s, yours, my daughter Brigitte’s, then Mako’s at the other end there.”

Satya studied the red brick of the wall she would be passing every day in the foreseeable future, then caught the sight of a sign that was taped to it. The quaint piece of parchment that covered a decent portion of the surface was covered in comic styled explosions, pigs with angel wings, photos of buildings and nature, and what looked to be shards of painted ceramic framing the entire thing. With an amused nasal puff of air, she turned her attention to the ceiling where stars on streamers hung above the area the sign occupied.

“That was Jamie,” Torbjorn sighed, actually managing to catch Satya’s reaction this go around. “He found those things buried deep in the teacher’s work room closet and practically begged Jack to let him hang them up.”

“How festive,” Satya said dryly, her hazel eyes lingering on the dangling decorations. “And this Jamie would be?”

“Jamison,” Torbjorn answered, correcting himself. “He would be our drawing teacher. Focuses on traditional art with pen and pencil. Eccentric young man from Darwin, Australia. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but he’s agreeable enough most days and the kids generally adore him.”

“I see,” she supplied with a nod, her eyes still lingering on the suspended stars before her.

Torbjorn then led Satya inside his room, gesturing to his desk, the potter’s wheel, and then to the windowed rooms in the back. “That there is where the clay goes,” he began cheerfully, unaware of the slight disinterest in the Vishkar woman’s demeanor. “And there next to it is the kiln room. None but I are allowed to go in there,” he declared, chest inflated. “It’s a good thing there are windows to it. I actually had one daft kiddie several years ago who would’ve melted the skin off his hand if I hadn’t caught him in time.”

Torbjorn watched as Satya’s now startled eyes suddenly widened incredulously.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head,” he assured in a laugh, slapping an open palm against his leg. “The boy was fine. Gave him quite the startle though and I never had that issue with anyone again.” He then raised his hand to his mouth, conspiratorially. “Though between you and me, I tell the kids every year that his arm caught on fire. Told them that the burns were so severe that they had to amputate it to save the boy’s life…”

Torbjorn then, without warning, burst into a boisterous guffaw, hands combing his beard and thoroughly oblivious to Satya’s weary stare. Though, after wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye, he did register Satya’s tight posture and confused grimace and recovered quickly. “Anyway, er, all of the art rooms are connected as you can see,” he continued, nudging his head down the line of classrooms.

Satya peered through an open door beside the kiln room that revealed the rears of several other classrooms. “How very interesting… I see that there is not a door between the two center rooms. Is there a reason?”

Torbjorn squinted at the clear walking space linking her room to Jamison’s before shaking his head. “Quite the observant eye you got there. But, I have no earthly idea as to why that is,” he said, crossing his arms. Then noticing the purse of her lips, he led her through the doorway with a brief clearing of his throat. “So ah, this here is Jamison’s room. And…oh, I forgot to show you! All of the rooms have studio lights beside the regular lights.”

He bustled to the light switches at the front of the room and flicked one up and another down, a smug smirk to his lips when the room was illuminated in an ambience that made Satya hum in approval. “This is actually quite impressive for a high school with such a budget,” she murmured, rubbing her chin in thought.

The smirk dissipated from Torbjorn’s face. He huffed as he flicked another switch down. “You can also focus the lights on one place in particular if you want,” he continued blandly as a table in the back was singled out by a halo from the ceiling.

She stretched out a hand into the canopy of light and observed the silhouette underneath it following her movements. Torbjorn then abruptly switched back the regular lights and watched her squint with pinched brows as her eyes struggled to adjust, sashaying past her to stand by the door in the very back.

“This here is just the supply closet,” he announced, gesturing with his left arm. “Pencils, acrylic, kneaded erasers, rulers, paint thinner, brushes, varnish, canvases, almost anything you think you would need. Jamison has the keys to this closet in his room. It’s usually left cracked for the students’ use, but if it isn’t, you can just ask him for it.”

He then pointed to the wooden contraption on a table next to them. “You, Jamison, and Briggitte all have paper cutters in your rooms, though if I remember correctly, Vishkar might’ve replaced yours with the fancier kind. Pity, as this one takes good ol’ fashioned arm strength.”

Satya studied Jamison’s paper cutter, weighing the heavy sword-like handle between her fingers and raised a brow. “The students are not allowed access to this, are they?”

The paper cutter blade gleamed at Torbjorn, and he gave the woman a sly grin. “Of course. I mean, a few kiddies nearly lose fingers every year or so, but what’s the harm? They can grow those back, can’t they?” Deciding to play out the bit, Torbjorn proceeded to thoughtfully furrow his thick brows, as if in deep thought.

Satya’s eyes turned to saucers once again.

“I’m KIDDING,” he roared, his short body shaking with repressed mirth. “I’m kidding. Nah. The kiddies aren’t allowed anywhere near the thing, for obvious reasons. Only the teachers are allowed to use these.”

She blinked at him.

After a few lingering chuckles, Torbjorn grinned up at her and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry dear, it’s the first day of school. Just thought we could use a few laughs before we are overrun by a horde of reckless teens.”

The curl of her lips had the potential of being classified as a gentle smile if she hadn’t looked so uncomfortable. “What an interesting sense of humor you have...Torbjorn.”

Torbjorn shrugged his shoulders again and walked past her to the next room. “You would get along well with my Brigitte. She tells me that very same thing often.” As he took a few steps forward into the doorway of Satya’s classroom, he stopped and whistled at the view. “Well look at that… Looks like Vishkar spared no expenses for you, did they?”

Satya pulled her suitcase along behind her and stood by the man so she could appreciate her company’s accommodations. Every piece of technology had been replaced with a Vishkar emblemed updated version. Standard equipment had also been updated, as demonstrated by the sleek paper cutter on the counter.

What really caught Torbjorn’s eye was the monstrosity of a machine beside Satya’s desk. “What in the world?!”

She turned to follow his line of sight and a small, genuine smile graced her lips. “Oh that? That would be my Giclee printer.”

Torbjorn boggled at the piece of machinery. “… It’s the size of a damn piano...”

Satya placed a finger underneath her chin as her eyes slowly raked up her printer. “Not as expensive as a grand,” she replied in a thoughtful hum, “but a smaller one, yes.”

Torbjorn followed behind as Satya rolled her luggage to her new desk. His eyes were still glued to the enormous printer, never having seen anything quite like it. “How does that thing even work?”

“It’s not impossibly complicated. Fairly simple, but it is rather high maintenance,” she assured evenly, leaning her suitcase beside her new desk.

The shorter man watched Satya appraise her new desk chair before sitting down and reclining in it a fraction, a small sigh escaping her. “High maintenance, of course,” he grumbled.

Then the woman looked at him from her seated position with a twinkle in her eye and a satisfied raise of her imperious and perfectly groomed brow. “And, for obvious reasons, only I am allowed to operate it.”

Torbjorn’s eyes widened, stunned, before he realized what she was getting at and surrendered to an incredulous chuckle. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Vaswani. But you won’t see me anywhere near that thing any time soon. I feel like if I touch it, it will fall apart.”

Satya smirked as her eye glanced at her printer, leaning leisurely back in her chair. “It’s far sturdier than that,” she said in a purr, “but I appreciate the cooperation.” She raised her chin to observe the landscape that was her new classroom. “The color of the cabinets in respect to the tile and the ceiling are a bit garish,” she supplied with a slight wrinkle to her nose. “And the…carpet in that back room-” She rose from her chair and strode to the rooms in the back she had failed to notice before.

Torbjorn also looked around at the color scheme, seemingly for the first time before he followed her. “Ah yes, the door on the left is a supply closet. I think older computers and other random tech are stored there for now. And this,” he pointed through the open door with a small window, “is the computer room. I never knew why it was built, to be honest. It’s never used.”

Much to the stout Swede’s surprise, the Indian woman let out an appreciative hum. “It’s almost as if fate had it built there, hm?”

He looked up to see her interested in the layout of the Vishkar issued laptops with focused eyes. A grey countertop ran from wall to wall in the petite rectangular shaped room. Chairs were placed equal distance apart, lined up with their designated laptop. An identical setup ran along the opposite wall.

Torbjorn let out a low grunt. “It seems like, yeah.”

Satya walked in a few steps, a whiteboard situated on the little bit of wall conjoining the two rows of counter finally drawing her attention. She gravitated towards it and ran her fingers along the clean surface.

“You should’ve seen the size of the dust bunnies in here before I cleaned it out. It was a whole new world in there, it was.” Torbjorn watched as she then turned to the right and stepped back in surprise.

“There’s a window here.”

“Yep.”

“I can see Jamison’s room.”

“Yep.”

“The entirety of it.”

“Yep. If you’re back here, you can wave to your neighbor,” he clarified in a chuckle. “I think the window is there to see if the kiddies are acting a fool or not. You may not be able to chastise them seeing as the computer room stretches into his. But Jamison sure can.”

“I see.”

One more look at the perfect view of Jamison’s desk through the window, and Satya exited the room, Torbjorn following close behind.

Torbjorn suddenly stopped short when he finally noticed something. “Hey,” he exclaimed, aghast, “they replaced the printer!”

Satya turned on her heel to witness the shining structure where the old one must have been. Then she lifted her chin up high and sniffed haughtily. “With good reason. I’m sure the last one must have been a relic.”

Torbjorn whipped his head up to meet her. “A relic?!” He squinted his eyes. “You mean the most loyal hunk of machinery that ever did exist? She’s been here since Overwatch learned to crawl!”

“My my,” she gasped, clearly amused. “Positively prehistoric, no?”

Torbjorn wouldn’t have been surprised if steam was visibly emanating from him. “Prehistoric?”

Satya opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a call from the next room. “Papa, are you here? I thought you’d be with Rein-!” Brigitte rounded the corner through the door connecting the two classrooms and stopped. When the young woman caught the sight of Satya, her eyes visibly widened and began to sparkle. “Papa! Is this her?”

“Yeeeeeah, this is her alright,” Torbjorn grumbled, folding his arms and eying the woman in question with a grumpy raised eyebrow. “She was just calling me and every other reliable and perfectly seasoned member of Overwatch High older than d-!”

There was a feeble “Oh” that escaped Satya’s lips when Brigitte abruptly stepped forward, reached out to grab her hand and gave it a shake that jostled the woman’s entire arm, taking little to no heed as to what her father was grumbling on about.

“Hi. I’m Brigitte. Torbjorn’s daughter. You can call me Brig,” Brigitte began, a warm glow radiating off her cheeks as she beamed at the older woman. “I teach photography. We’re going to be neighbors, as you can tell. I am so excited to finally have another woman here.” Then, she raised her other hand to her mouth and continued in a loud, conspiratory whisper, not unlike her father had done earlier. “It will be nice to have another feminine hand helping steer this wing of the school.”

It took Satya a moment to fully recover her posture. As the two released hands, she noted that the younger Lindholm took after Torbjorn when it came to grip strength. Their handshakes were practically identical. “You may call me Satya,” she supplied politely, clearing her throat as she flexed her fingers to try and stimulate feeling. “And you have my thanks.”

Brigitte bounced excitedly on the tips of her toes. “Papa, she’s so proper… I love it! And look at all this new tech!” A noise that was a cross between a grunt and a scoff escaped from the back of Torbjorn’s throat at this. “In case he hasn’t shown you yet, this is my room,” Brigitte continued with a shrug of one shoulder, her way of beckoning Satya to follow her. “On your right is the dark room. That’s where the students develop pictures. No light is allowed in there.”

Satya placed her hand on the yellow tape in the shape of an arrow that sat on a black round surface. “And this… is the door?”

“Oh yeah! This door is like those fancy ones in hotels that you have to push and spin a few times. Except it’s completely dark inside and there’s no glass, so there is glow in the dark tape in the direction of where to turn.”

“Interesting,” Satya whispered aloud, fingers gingerly tracing along the width and breath of the tape.

“Yeah,” Brigitte chuckled, pleased. “Freshman usually can’t find the opening and have to yell for me to help them. The experienced photography students, primarily juniors and seniors, have no problem though. It just takes some getting used to. Just in case, you’ll always know if students are in there if the light on the wall is on.”

Brigitte pointed to above the door where an electronic sign that read “In Use” was currently off.

“The rest of my room is pretty standard, save for my cabinet of cameras, film, lenses. You know, that sorta stuff. My kids sometime use Photoshop from time to time… But very rarely, considering my knowledge of the program only goes so far. We do a little editing here and there for our competitive pieces, but that’s about it. Do you think you could-!”

“But of course,” Satya responded almost instantaneously, making her way around the room with her hands clasped before her. She meticulously studied the wall where Brigitte proudly had various entries from her former students on display. “There is actually quite a bit of potential here. The photographs themselves are of great composition, but if they had passed through an Adobe program before being printed and framed, I assure you the result would have been… positively impeccable.”

Torbjorn, his good eye quickly swiveling in Brigitte’s direction, could have sworn his daughter was glowing from the praise.

“Right then,” the younger woman chirped happily, joyfully balancing back and forth on the balls of her feet, “whenever you have the time, I am willing to learn. I want my students to produce their very best, be it either traditional or digital.”

Torbjorn balked at his daughter. “Hey now! Wait just a damn minute! What happened to keeping traditional pho-!”

“Papa please,” Brigitte huffed. “The times are changing.”

Torbjorn’s eyes practically rolled all the way to the back of his skull before he not so subtly glowered at her. “That’s not what you said a few weeks-!”

“Papa,” Brigitte scoffed, cutting off her father once again, “she’s from Vishkar. I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about.”

The man grunted in disgust as he raised a bushy brow, clearly unimpressed.

“And, if I may ask, what printer do you use to print finished products?” Satya inquired, a perfectly manicured fingernail gingerly tracing over a picture of the famous Sydney Opera House.

Brigitte moved to stand beside her, hands behind her back. “Sadly, Overwatch has been on a tight budget the last few years and a high-quality printer for photography wasn’t terribly high on the priorities list. So, I bought my own. I know it’s not…the best, but it’s been doing the job.” She gestured to a black machine that looked to Satya like a record player. “It’s a Canon printer. I know-!”

“Oh, that simply won’t do.”

Brigitte closed her mouth.

“Well, if this was for a family living in the suburbs, this sort of printer would be adequate,” Satya clarified, looking down at the machine with unimpressed eyes, hands on hips. “They’ll utilize it for printing out milestone pictures and sending Christmas cards or framing them for members of a book club to admire,” she explained, a crinkle to her nose that made her nose ring lift. “But for art?” She spared a glance at Brigitte, who was staring blankly back at the corporate woman. “Any prestige or dignity the photograph would have had would be lost if it got ran through that printer. It will have to do for class assignments, but it simply wouldn’t due for competitive pieces… I suppose I can allow you to print your students’ works on my Giclee printer…”

Satya was mumbling to herself now. Brigitte watched her, feeling semi-chastised for her efforts despite having stars in her eyes at the aspect of actually being offered access to a studio-grade printer. “Yes,” Satya continued, slowly fazing back to the conversation at hand, “I can possibly ask Vishkar for another. Though, I cannot 100% guarantee anything, but considering what you’ve committed here is a crime, they might be willing to see reason.”

“I… thank you,” Brigitte gushed. She then turned to look at her father, eyes still twinkling. “You see that? Satya comes in for only a few minutes and does more for me than Overwatch has in recent years.”

Torbjorn’s frown deepened as he waves her comment away and swiveled on his heels to head towards the back door, arms crossed. “You ladies better wrap it up quick-like,” he grumbled, no longer possessing the cheery, up-beat mood he had when he arrived at school. “The bell to let those feral kiddies in will ring any minute now and I’m sure Vaswani wants to properly set her stuff up.” He then exited the room.

Brigitte turned to Satya with a barely contained giggle behind her hand. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a little mad is all,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

Satya’s brows knit in confusion. “Whatever for?”

Brigitte crossed her arms, rolled her eyes for a second time and let out an exasperated sigh. “He gets grumpy when he’s proven wrong or he doesn’t get his way.”

“I see,” Satya murmured, eyes lingering on the door Torbjorn exited.

“He’s also not too happy about all the tech upgrades. The old fossil prefers the old ways. You know how it is. The older generation is absolutely loathed to admit things are improving from when they were growing up.”

“I’m well versed in dealing with those sorts,” Satya assured, nodding her head sagely.

“Well anyway, it was so nice to meet you. I know you have to prepare your things before school starts.” Brigitte gave the Vishkar woman a confident wink. “And thank you. I literally can’t explain how much I appreciate your help.”

Satya bowed her head slightly, a small smile gracing her face. “Of course. My pleasure.”