The Office of Lady Ghanima Atreides, Monday Evening
It was late when Ghanima left her office that afternoon, having needed to make-up time working on her lesson plans. She pulled her throwing blades out of her target and put them back in her desk, returned her glowglobes to neutral, fluffed the pillows and over-stuffed chairs, and then left without even locking the door.
In the years that Ghanima had been at Fandom, she had grown to trust the people around her, to an extent. When once the the spice melange was kept only in her suite, under lock-and-key, the school itself had withstood so many sieges that Ghanima felt comfortable keeping a small emergency sample in her office, along with her other Sayyadina and Bene Gesserit herbal supplies.
That did not mean she was a fool.
The apothecary chest was one of Bene Gesserit design, each drawer having a unique puzzle lock, which solving then made the physical lock accessible. The cataloging labels in Chinese was Ghanima's own private system, a version of the language so old that few people on Earth spoke it beyond scholars of ancient literature, although a few might be able to read it. It had a place of honor in her office, next to her desk, and was almost as high as she was tall. It would take a miracle for someone to find what they were looking for in there.
A miracle. Or perhaps just the right sort of intelligence and a few tools beyond that of this time-period.
[OOC: For one! NFB PLZ!]
In the years that Ghanima had been at Fandom, she had grown to trust the people around her, to an extent. When once the the spice melange was kept only in her suite, under lock-and-key, the school itself had withstood so many sieges that Ghanima felt comfortable keeping a small emergency sample in her office, along with her other Sayyadina and Bene Gesserit herbal supplies.
That did not mean she was a fool.
The apothecary chest was one of Bene Gesserit design, each drawer having a unique puzzle lock, which solving then made the physical lock accessible. The cataloging labels in Chinese was Ghanima's own private system, a version of the language so old that few people on Earth spoke it beyond scholars of ancient literature, although a few might be able to read it. It had a place of honor in her office, next to her desk, and was almost as high as she was tall. It would take a miracle for someone to find what they were looking for in there.
A miracle. Or perhaps just the right sort of intelligence and a few tools beyond that of this time-period.
[OOC: For one! NFB PLZ!]