You dragged yourself down the halls of your high school, a ripe 8 AM on Monday morning. You made your way to first period, backpack slung over shoulder as you took your seat. Christ, you were tired. Other students had already filed in, hanging around and chatting before the bell rung. You scanned the room. Huh, no annoying Mrs. Thomas yet. Maybe physics wouldn't be so bad today.

You leaned over, grabbing your physics textbook from your bag. The sound of students chattering was broken by a tall and lanky man walking into the classroom followed by the bell ringing. A substitute, you assumed. Brown hair and brown eyes, and... converse? Strange apparel for a teacher, you noted. He took out a pair of glasses from his coffee-coloured pinstripe suit, putting them on and walking to the board before beginning to scrawl something. Students took their seats, watching as the man wrote "Physics" onto the whiteboard.

"Physics. Physics, physics, phyyysssicccs, physics." He spoke with a Estuary English accent. He walked around the desk and leaned on it, hands shoved in his pockets. He inhaled sharply, before speaking again. "So, anybody know what page you're on in your textbooks?"

Well, he was definitely... eccentric.