III. Reckoner.

[maleficentia]

Velvet Amandine Lyon. I know you're lurking around these journals, somewhere, so don't lets continue with the charade. If any of her friends and associates feel inclined to turn her in, well, let's have it, and promptly.

Have you finally summoned up a spine and published that piece you showed me at the end of our semester together?

Comments

[bonesandbottles]

Are you going to ask her out?

[maleficentia]

If she's published, I just might.

Of course not--I'm going to browbeat her.

[bonesandbottles]

For information? Can I play good cop?

[maleficentia]

In a sense--and yes, please, if only for the fact that I'd like to see you try.

She was my student a few years ago, and at the end of the class I finally forced her to write something worthwhile. Since then, the little coward has kept it to herself.

[bonesandbottles]

It's way better than being the bad cop because the good cop is just as crooked but is better at hiding it.

I want to be a professor so I can demand things from people.

[maleficentia]

Shut it; you'll give away all your secrets.

Oh, I demanded things long before I was handed a diploma. You ought to try it, sometime.

[bonesandbottles]

Oh damn, now we have to reverse our roles. Or pick them out of a hat.

I don't think I'm imposing enough for that.

[maleficentia]

Practice makes perfect. I have faith in you.

[strucktwelve]

Being demanding is one of the many perks.

[bonesandbottles]

Well I am qualified to be an art teacher.

[strucktwelve]

Art teacher or art professor.

[bonesandbottles]

Both. Trust me. All you need is a review about your work in the New Yorker and a stripped shirt.

[maleficentia]

That's not an exaggeration. I had my work cut out for me, given my relative lack of striped clothing.

[bonesandbottles]

Luckily for me I have plenty of striped shirts.