[OOC] Diana
So I goaded Diya's first player into writing a RL vignette. Since Diya is currently playerless and the RL vignettes don't reflect IC events as much, I post it here at her request. ^^ A prologue to the RL continuation I posted a little earlier.
He had caught her eye on the day they were discussing the merits of James Joyce and his only dramatic work: Exiles; the simple reading he had done of Richard Rowan capturing her attention.
To his Rowan, Sierra had played the part of Bertha, and the chemistry between the two had been flawless - enough to elicit hoots and hollers from the rest of twelve students taking this upper level seminar - and for the first time in years, Diana felt the pangs of jealousy slip green in her heart. The hours spent after classes discussing literary works had evolved into debates on the merits of society's present state, and beyond the intellectual stimulation, there had been, she felt, a spark.
Clearly, though, with the support of a highly sensitive woman's intuition, the graduate student found that spark lively in the way Ethan and Sierra looked at each other and withdrew behind her artful mask of indulgent instructor. With the class called to order and summarily dismissed with instructions on the subject for next week's meeting with the professor, she failed to notice, in the midst of busying herself with organizing her papers, that Ethan had waited, patient, by her desk.
"Ms. Nuilles." His accent was superb, his delivery a smooth tenor that could audibly be traced back to money. "I had a few questions about the end of the play."
Despite the ache of disappointment in her chest, Diana flashed her characteristic smile up at the young man, dwelling briefly on the shine of his dark hair, before straightening herself to stuff her pile of papers into the backpack she carried around campus. "I've a few moments before Nathan," she paused, correcting herself quickly, "Professor Gallo's TA meeting starts. Walk me to my office?" The smile again, dazzling in its own way, reached to crease crinkles about her dark eyes.
Before Diana could sling her backpack over her shoulder, Ethan had already reached for it, their hands brushing as he steered the heavy bag out from under her and over his own shoulder - it was as it always was, and Diana could dampen the flutter of feminism in her heart for his courtly foibles. His own books and binder were carried beneath his arm.
The walk to her office was short, filled with lighter conversations of the day's events. A hallway and a turn brought them from the classroom to the tiny corridor of TA offices, and her shared one with Lauren. A Lauren who, Diana fervently hoped, would be teaching a class.
"Empty," Ethan noted, as the door opened.
"Empty," Diana repeated, relief shading her voice. "Now about that last act." She rounded her shared desk, absently fixing a stack of Lauren's papers neater, and then gestured for the young man to set her bag down anywhere.
In the safe confines of her office, Ethan dropped one of his formal charms in favor of a gently possessive name: "Diana."
"Dee," the correction was automatic, coupled with a chagrinned smile that flickered up.
His head shake was barely visible, his own correction quite firm and the fingers that reached across to grip her chin firmer. "Diana." To him, she'd always be Diana - the elusive huntress of the moon, chaste, and pure. For him, she'd always be Diana, and the realization of this as their lips met over the desk was enough to quell, for a moment, the jealousy in her heart, and more importantly, the revolution burgeoning in her mind.
He had caught her eye on the day they were discussing the merits of James Joyce and his only dramatic work: Exiles; the simple reading he had done of Richard Rowan capturing her attention.
To his Rowan, Sierra had played the part of Bertha, and the chemistry between the two had been flawless - enough to elicit hoots and hollers from the rest of twelve students taking this upper level seminar - and for the first time in years, Diana felt the pangs of jealousy slip green in her heart. The hours spent after classes discussing literary works had evolved into debates on the merits of society's present state, and beyond the intellectual stimulation, there had been, she felt, a spark.
Clearly, though, with the support of a highly sensitive woman's intuition, the graduate student found that spark lively in the way Ethan and Sierra looked at each other and withdrew behind her artful mask of indulgent instructor. With the class called to order and summarily dismissed with instructions on the subject for next week's meeting with the professor, she failed to notice, in the midst of busying herself with organizing her papers, that Ethan had waited, patient, by her desk.
"Ms. Nuilles." His accent was superb, his delivery a smooth tenor that could audibly be traced back to money. "I had a few questions about the end of the play."
Despite the ache of disappointment in her chest, Diana flashed her characteristic smile up at the young man, dwelling briefly on the shine of his dark hair, before straightening herself to stuff her pile of papers into the backpack she carried around campus. "I've a few moments before Nathan," she paused, correcting herself quickly, "Professor Gallo's TA meeting starts. Walk me to my office?" The smile again, dazzling in its own way, reached to crease crinkles about her dark eyes.
Before Diana could sling her backpack over her shoulder, Ethan had already reached for it, their hands brushing as he steered the heavy bag out from under her and over his own shoulder - it was as it always was, and Diana could dampen the flutter of feminism in her heart for his courtly foibles. His own books and binder were carried beneath his arm.
The walk to her office was short, filled with lighter conversations of the day's events. A hallway and a turn brought them from the classroom to the tiny corridor of TA offices, and her shared one with Lauren. A Lauren who, Diana fervently hoped, would be teaching a class.
"Empty," Ethan noted, as the door opened.
"Empty," Diana repeated, relief shading her voice. "Now about that last act." She rounded her shared desk, absently fixing a stack of Lauren's papers neater, and then gestured for the young man to set her bag down anywhere.
In the safe confines of her office, Ethan dropped one of his formal charms in favor of a gently possessive name: "Diana."
"Dee," the correction was automatic, coupled with a chagrinned smile that flickered up.
His head shake was barely visible, his own correction quite firm and the fingers that reached across to grip her chin firmer. "Diana." To him, she'd always be Diana - the elusive huntress of the moon, chaste, and pure. For him, she'd always be Diana, and the realization of this as their lips met over the desk was enough to quell, for a moment, the jealousy in her heart, and more importantly, the revolution burgeoning in her mind.