(Untitled)

[wolflord_andain]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every group of teachers needs a refuge from the students. An inviolable sanctum full of tea, slightly uncomfortable chairs, a cinder-choked fireplace, and a slight stale smell of cabbage and chalk dust

Comments

[mmquitecontrary]

Aside from the tea, the chairs, the smell of cabbage, and Master Wolfe, the teacher's lounge also currently contains:

1. Miss Spenlow - bright-eyed and idealistic young teacher of history. She is whispered to have leanings towards the Women's Lib movement.
2. Miss Twaite - elderly, sharp-eyed mathematics teacher. She has been at the school forever and a day. There are the usual rumors circulating about Tragic Lost Love Affairs In Her Past and so on, but she seems far too sensible for anyone to give them much credence.
3. Mr. Fortinbraise - ambitious and Artistic music teacher. No one needs to spread rumors that he is pursuing Miss Spenlow; it is far too obvious already. Currently he is leaning over her chair while she spoons sugar into her tea.
4. Monsieur Prosper - French dancing master. As far as everyone else is concerned this about sums it up. Currently he is sleeping in one of the uncomfortable armchairs.

"My dear Miss Spenlow," says Mr. Fortinbras, as the drama opens, "will you take more milk in your tea?"

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan very calmly turns a page in the book he is currently perusing.

Doubtless it is something very old, and in Latin.

It will also, no doubt, keep him from committing cold blooded murder. No matter how satisfying such an act might be.

It is a true exercise in forbearance.

[mmquitecontrary]

Miss Spenlow, it seems, will not take more milk in her tea.

(Miss Spenlow's manner, on the whole, is not overwhelmingly warm towards Mr. Fortinbras.)

"Oh, but Miss Twaite," she cries, turning her head quickly, "whatever happened to your petticoat?" For indeed Miss Twaite is mending a petticoat, which has clearly been savaged in several places.

(Also, apparently, trailed through quartz dust of some sort, from the way it glints oddly in the light.)

"Miss Twaite!" cries Mr. Fortinbras at the same time, in tones of strong disapproval. "Do you really think you ought to be mending a - an undergarment - in a room which all of us frequent? Don't you agree, Wolfe?" he appeals to his fellow in masculinity, Prosper obviously being French and of no use even if he were awake.

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan does not look up from his book, apparently occupied in turning another page.

"As it appears to need mending, I'm sure I have no objection. And, of course, as I have little interest in said garment, I find it simple enough to keep myself otherwise occupied."

He does look up for a moment, winter-grey eyes fixing on Mr. Fortinbras.

"Have you nothing with which to occupy yourself, sir?"

Galadan's tone suggests that he is very much surprised.