Post by Tamis Raynor on Jan 14, 2008 20:00:06 GMT -5
The Headmistress missed a step on the way out the door, but recovered smoothly, catching herself before the slip could hopefully be noticed. She had not expected him to follow and even though he kept his distance she could self-consciously looming over her as if he were breathing on her neck. She was unsettled and disturbed. When life decided to throw her lemons, it gave her enough that it would take a lifetime to juice them all. A favored tea pot in shards, a run-in with Shaw on her premises, and now this … unexpected… occurrence.
But she was no fly, and Alfonz Jedynak would figure that out – the hard way or the easy way.
If nothing else on the long list of reasons, she left to escape those eyes. Dark voids that seemed to see straight through any facades she put up to bar their way. Years of practice and training had made Raynor a rather competent verbalist and performer. Yet he seemed to stare past every verbal maze and physical front that she put forth. It was not something that she was used to, and something that, to tell the truth, scared the wits out of her.
The sly smirk on his face earlier and the one on his face now as he watched her with that same uncanny rapture did not ease her angst. He was leaning unperturbed in the doorway of the office she had provided. Of which he was filling it with the spoils she was indirectly paying for. It was not the expression of a man that worried that every bold step forward toed at the secure status of his job. It was not the expression of the man concerned with starting a scandal by kissing a woman controversially older than him… and even lacked the natural hesitation in the fact that she was his employer.
Even as he uttered his farewell, a minute part of Tamis Raynor wanted to keep her back to him and continue walking, forgetting and forgiving what had just happened and the inferred connotation in his words. But the rest of her knew it was far too late for that. That if she ignored him now, the door that had just opened would never be able to close again… Did she want it to?
The question was irrelevant.
So, she froze in her steps. There was a long pause where she stared down the blessedly empty corridor before her (it was after all, in the middle of classes). Then, she shifted, turning to give him a head-to-toe inspection. Starting at the head, down to the feet and back up again. When she returned back to his face, she met his eyes directly.
“There will not be a next time."
And with that she continued down the hall with as much dignity as a bare feet five foot woman with dew-damp robes could muster.
The question was, which one of them had she been trying to convince?
But she was no fly, and Alfonz Jedynak would figure that out – the hard way or the easy way.
If nothing else on the long list of reasons, she left to escape those eyes. Dark voids that seemed to see straight through any facades she put up to bar their way. Years of practice and training had made Raynor a rather competent verbalist and performer. Yet he seemed to stare past every verbal maze and physical front that she put forth. It was not something that she was used to, and something that, to tell the truth, scared the wits out of her.
The sly smirk on his face earlier and the one on his face now as he watched her with that same uncanny rapture did not ease her angst. He was leaning unperturbed in the doorway of the office she had provided. Of which he was filling it with the spoils she was indirectly paying for. It was not the expression of a man that worried that every bold step forward toed at the secure status of his job. It was not the expression of the man concerned with starting a scandal by kissing a woman controversially older than him… and even lacked the natural hesitation in the fact that she was his employer.
Even as he uttered his farewell, a minute part of Tamis Raynor wanted to keep her back to him and continue walking, forgetting and forgiving what had just happened and the inferred connotation in his words. But the rest of her knew it was far too late for that. That if she ignored him now, the door that had just opened would never be able to close again… Did she want it to?
The question was irrelevant.
So, she froze in her steps. There was a long pause where she stared down the blessedly empty corridor before her (it was after all, in the middle of classes). Then, she shifted, turning to give him a head-to-toe inspection. Starting at the head, down to the feet and back up again. When she returned back to his face, she met his eyes directly.
“There will not be a next time."
And with that she continued down the hall with as much dignity as a bare feet five foot woman with dew-damp robes could muster.
The question was, which one of them had she been trying to convince?