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Mallory Hall > Lockers

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message 1: by Dark Angel (new)

Dark Angel | 157 comments Mod
A long, seemingly endless hallway stretches before you, with a blue marble floor and white lockers. Each student is given their own locker, which they are free to decorate as they please. The lockers are each six feet tall.

message 2: by Aly (last edited Feb 12, 2020 12:53PM) (new)

Aly (poaly1998) | 145 comments Mod

[[ For Jo | Myfanwy ]]

Mihail thought lockers were unnecessary. He kept all his belongings carefully stocked away in his bedroom, sitting snugly on undecorated shelves and settled in a neat pile on the corner of his desk. The metallic lockers standing in the hallway of Mallory were too far for his liking, and yet, every so often, he found there was reason to visit them. There would be some combination of classes where it was too inconvenient to carry all the required books in his usual bag, or where the trek back to Winchester House would take too long, and he would be forced instead to make a quick pitstop between the two lessons to exchange one textbook for another.

Today, morning classes had broken for lunch, and the black-haired man had made his way back to his locker from his Classical Civilisation & Language class to retrieve the Further Maths textbooks he had left there between the two lessons. He would have carried them both at once, but his Latin professor had introduced a particularly heavy new edition of the Aeneid, and Further Maths had brought out another Core Maths textbook, and it was a nightmare to take them both at the same time (not to mention Mihail had always been particularly resistant in allowing others to touch his belongings).

His locker stood three from the end of a section, where they were ordered alphabetically, and wholly undecorated. There seemed no reason to cover the front door of his locker with unnecessary bought trash, nor did he care to fill the interior with all the accessories and baubles others appeared to require. It served the same purely practical purpose as his bedroom, and sat as white and sterile as if it had never been touched, the only sign of its use a large lock which sealed the door shut. Mihail was fussy about his locks: he was a skilled lockpicker himself, and combination locks were never as safe, so the only logical choice, as such, had proved to be a biometric lock, which wirelessly linked to his mobile phone and only opened at the touch of the appropriate fingerprint.

Mihail pulled open the metal door, momentarily setting down the still-hot macchiato he'd been sipping in class, reaching for his maths textbook and the notebooks that came with it, dropping it into the black leather messenger bag which hung from his shoulder. It was weighty - tediously so, in fact - and he could not fathom why anyone would have assigned a pair of classes so close together with such a horrid set of books attached. He rolled his eyes in frustration as the bag sagged sadly where it hung, pouting despite his refusal to leave the books in the now-empty locker.

He slammed the locker door shut with a lack of forgiveness which was evident in all his other actions, clipping the lock back into place as he raised his wrist to check the time on his watch. The minute hand was perched towards the twelve, and the silver hour hand was not far behind it, thus meaning that lunch was imminent. The food itself did not matter all that much to Mihail - he never ate much anyhow - and he tended to prefer the second half of lunch anyhow, but there was a meeting for Head Students a little past twelve, and he had never once been late.

Turning to exit the hallway and direct his way to the meeting room in question, Mihail's eyes were elsewhere, directed onto the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram. Most people moved out of the way, but it appeared that someone that day had not received the memo, and he promptly walked into them. His macchiato wobbled in his hand, and a fair portion spilt from the lid of the cup to land unceremoniously on the beaded silk of his Aqualac loafers. His hand fell to rest on the waistline of his white shirt, cinching the fabric further, and his eyes narrowed so that the snake-shaped eyeliner made them seem little more than angered slits, a stray bang falling almost maliciously over his gaze.

"My shoes," he hissed, a part of him wishing he'd worn the Dandelions instead that day, for then the stain would have been somewhat less significant. His gaze dropped to the navy blue watch on his wrist, and he frowned as the time seemed slightly off. "You've decalibrated my watch, and you've ruined my fifth-favourite Louboutins. Were you not gifted with eyes at birth, or are you just too idiotic to use them?"

message 3: by Dark Angel (new)

Dark Angel | 157 comments Mod
All things considered, Myfanwy Edevane was not doing too badly at Farrow Academy, or so said Elizabeth. The girl had taken her under her wing after making her acquaintance on her second day, even offering to bring her into her inner circle. But of course, Fawn could never have agreed to that. Her uncle's instructions had been clear: she was to avoid her other classmates as much as she could. Still, she knew that she could not avoid Elizabeth. She dared not make an enemy out of the Headmaster's daughter. Surely, this was something that even Alistair had to understand. And so she accepted a compromise. She would be Elizabeth's friend: Elizabeth would show her the ropes here and, in exchange, Fawn would take a position in her outer circle, forever hanging on the fringes of favour.

She had been given the honour of sitting to Elizabeth's left in History. They were going to walk to lunch together, but Myfanwy's phone had chimed loudly just as they stepped into the hall. She had pulled out her Google Pixel 4, staring down at the words printed clearly on the screen. It was a text from her uncle Alistair, signed with three kisses, instructing her to call him. She had explained to Elizabeth that her guardian wished to check in with her and excused herself immediately.

He picked up on the very first ring. "Fawn, my dear," he purred into the reciever.
"Uncle Alistair," she murmured quietly. "It is so wonderful to hear your voice."
"Where are you?"
"Heading towards my locker. I need to grab my English Language textbook and then I can return to my chamber and there we may speak privately if you wish."
"Very well."

She held the phone to her ear as she made her way down the hall, listening to her uncle speak of how life had been without her. She soon found herself entranced by his velvety voice, as was always the case. She was listening so attentively that she did not even see the young man until they crashed together.

She let out a soft gasp as she almost lost the grip on her phone, but fortunately was able to hold onto it. For a moment she could only stand there, dazed and confused, as Alistair's concerned voice hummed through the speakers, overlapping with the angry voice of the young man she had collided with. Knowing she would have to explain later, she pressed the red button to end the call and tucked her phone safely away, gazing up at the imposing figure with wide brown eyes.

She took a moment to calm herself, inhaling shakily before letting out a steadier breath. She knew this young man, not by acquaintance, but through the many photographs Elizabeth had shown her of him. This made her wonder if he had heard of her. After all, she was only recent arrival, and Elizabeth said that she was the prettiest arrival for quite some time. Alistair had always called her beautiful, but nobody else had ever had the opportunity to.
Her own pointed cream and gold shoes were also soaked with the beverage, as was the hem of her floor length cream silk dress. She would definitely have to go back to her room and change. There was no way she could wander the school with a dirty hem.

"The shoes are not ruined," when she eventually found her voice, it was calm and quiet. Not too quiet to be heard, but quiet in a way that urges peole to listen. "The stain can be removed if you ask the maids, as I shall ask them to get the stain out of my shoes and my dress, for as you see, I have been affected also. I believe we can both learn a valuable lesson from this. Perhaps we shall both look where we are going in future, yes? For my part, I am sincerely sorry. I am now here and my uncle insisted I call him immediately. I am quite unused to disobeying him, I'm afraid," she let out a light, melodic laugh, wondering if they might laugh at the situation together. "Liza -- " and here, she was made certain to use the nickname that only friends of Elizabeth were permitted to use. " -- has told me about you. You are Mihail Toussaint?" she slowly extended a pale, delicate hand, offering a warm smile. "I am Myfanwy Edevane. Fawn, to my friends."

message 4: by Aly (new)

Aly (poaly1998) | 145 comments Mod

Shoes weren't ruined. The very statement was laughable, though Mihail was hardly in the mood to do so, and the sole indication of his amusement at such a sentence was the way the left side of his lips twitched upwards for a split second into a smirk which reeked of twin disdain and derision. "These are Aqualacs," he informed her, ignoring every other word that had come out of this girl's mouth thus far. Her apologies and chuckles meant nothing to him, and he saw them solely as a further assault to the sanctity of his precious loafers. "They are hand-embroidered to a custom design. Beautiful. French. They cost four thousand dollars." Mihail tilted his foot, so the light glinted off the silver and green beads that made up the snakes designed on the vamp, now partially stained with the remains of his coffee. "This is grosgrain silk; I doubt the maids would know what they're doing. Besides, I do not let others touch my beauties." He was fussy about the shoes, more so than anything else, and only the very closest of his companions were given the excuse to touch them.

For a moment longer, the man stared down at the shoes, his gaze still dark, obviously distressed by the entire situation, though he refused to show any emotion rather than anger. As if he needed to pay more considerable attention to his walking-path: most were intelligent enough to step out of his way and not comment on the way he was so often engrossed by all his favoured social media apps. The idea of interrupting him would have been thoroughly idiotic, and Mihail ignored the suggestion that he should alter his attentions, skipping directly to the introductions.

"Princess," he answered, feeling as if that was the most appropriate nickname by which to introduce himself at that moment, given that she was already aware of his full name. Extending a hand with crimson-painted nails in response, pointing his fingers downwards in a silent request for a kiss, his next words almost clearly untrue, with little attempt to hide the contempt which filled his words. "Lovely to meet you, Myfanwy." Mihail was touchy about diminutives (perhaps why, outside of his close friend group and potential partners, his own nickname was more of a title). "I am certain Elizabeth has made some darling comments about me." This was unlikely, but he did not entirely care.

Glancing down at his watch in irritation once more, still annoyed by the way the collision had shifted the time by what he calculated to be around one-minute-and-thirty-seconds, he was thankful to see there was still time before the meeting. He turned his gaze back to Myfanwy, running it down the length of her outfit and settling on her own drenched shoes. "I imagine we were rushed to return to the Victorian period?" he queried, smug at his own words, for her outfit seemed drastically outside of the norm, and she stood out even in the empty corridor. "I am surprised Elizabeth would allow someone with such a loose grasp of basic dress-sense to sit so near her illustriousness." The words dripped with sarcasm, and he quirked his hip outwards, clearly indicating he did not mean to move from his current position until this entire matter had been resolved to his standards. "Now, do we desire a detention for gallivanting so madly through the halls, or am I feeling apologetic?"

message 5: by Dark Angel (new)

Dark Angel | 157 comments Mod
Clearly, he had not heard a single word she had said, other than her statement about his shoes. She looked down at the troublesome loafers once again, raising a thin brow in thought. She could tell that they meant a lot to him, though he had not said so, and that they had indeed been hand-embroidered, just as her own were. For a moment she admired the intricate beadwork, then glanced up once again to meet the young man's eyes.

If Elizabeth had not warned her in advance, she would have been stunned into silence when he introduced himself, for never could she have believed that a man would introduce himself by a female title. She had never encountered such a thing before. Alistair had warned her of such men, but told her that it was wrong for them to think this way, as a man should always be a man and a woman a woman. But as it was, Elizabeth had warned her that there was a young man by the name of Mihail Toussaint who answered to the title of Princess, and so when he offered her his hand, she bent over it and pressed upon it a ceremonious kiss. "The pleasure is mine," she replied, her voice as soft as a cloud. She was not necessarily certain if it was a pleasure to meet him, but she dared not say otherwise. He was clearly a powerful figure in the school and, though not among Liza's intimate acquaintances, not one to be trifled with. Liza herself had given Myfanwy a rundown on who everyone was on her fourth day. "Yes, Liza does speak of you," this she could say with all honesty. "I had been very intrigued to meet you, though I had hoped it would be under better circumstances," she sent out a silent prayer to her uncle, hoping that he would forgive her for what she was about to do. He had forbidden her from socializing with anyone, but she had now not only caught Liza's interest, but invoked Mihail's wrath. It was too late to turn back now, and if Fawn was honest with herself, she wanted to make a name for herself in this school. So she offered Mihail Toussaint her most winning smile and lowered her lashes ever so slightly in that way she had seen Elizabeth do when talking to a handsome young man. "I'm very sorry."

She lifted her right foot so that it would be easier for him to inspect her shoe, which was also hand-crafted to fit her feet and covered in tiny golden beads. As his eyes roamed her she stood very still, folding her hands in front of her. SIlently, she hoped he would approve of her, but of course he did not.
"My style is perhaps different than what you are used to, but Elizabeth assures me that although unique it is beautiful, and she says that standing out from the crowd will make me more memorable," she explained. "And actually, I take my inspiration from a lot of different eras, though no later than the late nineteenth century, on that you are correct."
She wanted to tell him that she wasn't madly gallivanting, but instead she offered a meek smile, lowering her head slightly. "Again, please forgive me. My uncle wanted to talk to me. He gets worried..." she allowed her voice to train off, knowing she sounded sweet and vulnerable. "I can pay for you to get new shoes and a new shirt. Just tell me what they cost and I can pay for you to get them replaced. Or I can pay for you to have them cleaned. Whatever you would like."

message 6: by Aly (last edited Feb 05, 2020 06:52PM) (new)

Aly (poaly1998) | 145 comments Mod

More apologies. Mihail watched her through his thick eyelashes, his expression uninterested, though he found some amusement in the way she had lowered her own eyelashes, and the way a smile had crept onto her lips. His scornful smirk widened, surprised by yet mildly accepting of the flirting, then thought he might crush her apparent momentary fantasy. "I am in a relationship," he commented, though unsure where he and his sometimes-partner currently stood. It was now an 'off', so far as he was aware, "and it is a same-sex relationship. And I do not find you attractive, even speaking objectively." She was not entirely his type, even on those rare occasions when he did swing towards women.

"You are correct: your personal style is highly different from that which I usually experience. Elizabeth is partially correct as well: it is unique." The latter, however, was not something with which Mihail could agree. He had always favoured high fashion, and followed most designers avidly. Thus the majority of his outfits seemed to fall directly from a catwalk, regardless of whether they were typically deemed excessively extravagant for everyday wear. He considered himself thrice as fashionable as most other students, and most certainly more so than the girl who had dared ruin such a carefully selected outfit. "As for your concerns, I do not care for your apologies. My sisters often wish to speak with me, but that does not mean I do not pay attention to my surroundings." A lie, given the situation, but it did not matter. Mihail was confident he had the upper hand in this encounter.

The youngest Toussaint might not have been feeling apologetic, and such was evident in the way his eyebrows remained furrowed together, and he had not shifted his hand from his waistline, but it seemed Myfanwy was, at least, willing to attempt to make amends. He snorted at her feigned sweetness, and at the suggestion that she could pay for his items. It was not a matter of price - he was relatively confident she could afford either the replacement or the laundering - but more an uncommon sentimentality.

"I do not desire them replaced," he objected, his tone tilting in such a way that implied incredulity she would even suggest this. "As I said, these are custom-designed. No one touches my Louboutins." There were only two (three, technically) people he would trust to do so, and this girl was not one of the lucky few. "I think a detention is more than fair."

Mihail turned away a moment, his attention falling on a smaller student who was attempting to pass the altercation without drawing attention to themselves. He gestured them over for a moment, giving them the previously offending coffee to hold onto so he could easily reach into his bag to find his little pad of detention slips. He scrawled on the name she had given him (his handwriting had never been all that elegant), then scribbled some comment about the alleged 'assault' which was her offence. "Tonight, hm?" he suggested, even though the question was rhetorical as he marked down the final time. "Lucky you: I specifically requested the honour of supervising this evening's detention. You're sure to have a delightful time. Five-thirty to eight-thirty. Do you know where the detention room is?"

message 7: by Dark Angel (new)

Dark Angel | 157 comments Mod
Alright, so his words were hurtful. She could already tell that she was not going to like this person at all. But right now, she needed him to leave her alone. And after that, well, she supposed it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he at least considered her an acquaintance he didn't despise. She had tried to follow Alistair's commands, but life here held so much promise. And he had always taught her to be polite; surely he would understand that she could not simply ignore those who addressed her first?

"Well, everybody had a type," she said softly, offering a charming smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight, her eyes wide and innocent, her skin smooth and clear. It did not matter to her that he failed to find her attractive. Alistair found her attractive, that was all that counted. "But in truth, I was not flirting with you. Please forgive me if I gave the wrong impression. I was home-schooled until I arrived here a few days ago and am still learning your social graces. I'm sure your partner is delightful."

Yes, she was taken aback by the fact that that he was in a same-sex relationship, but she dared not say so. She kept Alistair's opinions to herself and her smile in place.

Naive as she was, she could not tell that he was insulting her outfit once again. To her it was the most beautiful thing in the world, looking as though it had been plucked straight from the pages of a fairytale. She had never worn any other type of clothing. To her, this was the height of fashion, though of course she found Elizabeth's outfits beautiful, and admired the care with which Mihail had selected his.
"Thank you," she responded gently, a soft blush subtly tinting her ivory cheeks.
But then he spoke again of the incident that had quite literally brought her together and her thin, dark eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. Quite clearly he was wrong, but she had no mind for a confrontation, especially without a brave man like Alistair to stand at her side and defend her. So, rather than argue, she simply nodded. "You are right, please forgive me. I assure you this is the last time it will ever happen."

Now it was Myfanwy's turn to stare at him with incredulity. He was giving her a detention for accidentally bumping into him? After she had apologized? After she had promised to replace them? After she had sworn to make things right? They had bumped into her. It had been his coffee that had spilled and her shoes were ruined too! But did any of that matter to him? No. He was using his power for his own gain. She had read Farrow Academy's rulebook from cover to cover and there was absolutely nothing inside about bumping into someone being a punishable offense.

She stood up a little taller as he drew out his little book, her eyes now filled with condescension. Clearly, he had underestimated her. If he thought he could bring injustice upon her and get away with it, he was wrong. She was not going to let this slide.
She took the slip without touching his hand, glancing down at the almost illegible scrawl. Doesn't he know how to write?! she thought, letting out a soft gasp as she scanned the paper once again and saw her supposed offense. "Assault?" she repeated in a whispered hiss, bile rising in her throat. This really had gone too far. Not only was he punishing her for an accident, he was lying about it. He was slandering her. Wasn't slander a crime? She was pretty certain she had heard somewhere that slander was a crime.

She looked up at him once more as he addressed her, her eyes now burning with hatred. An eerie smile slowly crossed her face, settling there.
"Lucky me indeed," she replied in a tone that could only be described as honey laced with cyanide. "And no, I'm sorry, I don't. Should I ask Liza?"

message 8: by Aly (new)

Aly (poaly1998) | 145 comments Mod

It seemed Myfanwy had come to terms with the fact that Mihail was correct (a truth which most eventually learned to understand), and he offered her the kind of smile which appeared perfectly kind but was slightly more condescending. Still, the moment was shortlived, as the girl's face immediately shifted into an expression of surprise as he announced his intentions to offer her detention. He didn't think it so ludicrous a suggestion.

"You seem confused?" he questioned as she glanced over the slip, for a moment wondering if it was due to an inability to read his handwriting. It was true that it was not the neatest, but the style of his script seemed thoroughly unimportant compared to the grand scheme of things, and he didn't care if others disliked it. Mihail was not one to be interested in the opinions of others. "Assault, noun. In law: an act which threatens physical harm to a person, whether or not actual harm is done. Your actions here have threatened harm unto me and, therefore, it merits detention. I would rather you did not question me, else I might be forced to give you another detention period for disobedience."

Mihail returned his booklet of detention slips to his bag, taking back his half-empty cup of coffee from the boy-turned-temporary-table and shooing him away. The girl was staring at him with evident distaste, and her expression had turned to something he supposed she thought was menacing but only seemed amusing in its failure. It was not a strange reaction: most weren't quite so happy to see they had been assigned a detention. Her tone was nothing new either, and Mihail bent down so that his height was level to her, despite the heel on his ruined shoes.

"I would save your attempts at viciousness, darling. You ruined my shoes and decalibrated my watch, and I am not in the habit of forgiveness. You wouldn't like to see what I did to this one man who tried to steal my Biancas, but, and do trust me on this, he can't see you now." He smirked at her, lacing his words with the same malice she attempted as he pulled himself up to his full height, looming over the girl. "Bad behaviour begets punishment; I am sure you must have learned that at some point in your life and, even if you have not, I can assure you that you shall in your time here. Now, the detention room is on the second floor of Grimsby Hall, and it is rather difficult to miss. As for Liza, no, there is no need to question her." Mihail took a long, slow sip from his macchiato, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, frowning thoughtfully. "I assume you have brought up your friend as you think I am afraid of her but, let me assure you: I most certainly am not. I am her superior, and I have the right to assign detentions as I see fit. Now..." He glanced at his watch a final time, still annoyed by the slightly incorrect timing, then continued, lingering after he spoke to ensure she was fully aware of the situation: "I have a meeting. I shall see you this evening. Do not be late. Is that understood?"

message 9: by Dark Angel (new)

Dark Angel | 157 comments Mod
He was smiling at her, but the smile seemed wrong. He looked more like a predator about to trap its elusive prey than one person offering a gesture of friendship to another. A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she forced her lips to rise upwards. She would give him nothing else to complain about. If she was faultless, then others would surely come to her side.

'You seem confused,' he said, before going on to deliver a very accurate definition of the word assault. She fixed him with a wounded look, her doe eyes widening at his words.
"I have no intention of disobeying you, Sir," she replied, her tone gentle but firm. "But I have to admit that I am slightly confused. At first, I confess, I could not read your writing. I apologize for that. But then I could hardly believe what I was reading. Surely you do not think I assaulted you? With all due respect, Sir, I could in no way cause you physical harm. I am a woman and a fragile one at that; your strength far excedes mine. Of course I shall do your detention, but surely if I have assaulted you, you will tell me how I have done so?"
Her voice never raised, nor did her face betray her emotions. Outwardly, she was as placid as an undisturbed lake in summertime. But fury crashed over her heart like waves of a stormy sea breaking against the rocks.

A smile so sweet that surely any rival with half an ounce of sense would find it unnerving crept across her face as he tried to tell her to save her attempts at viciousness. If this were a fairy tale, her handsome Prince would burst through these doors and drive the heels of those shoes he loved he loved so dearly into his throat, spraying his silk ensemble with gore. Her smile bloomed into something genuinely terrifying as she clung to this image, reveling in the fantasy of Mihail's body violently shuddering as each intake of breath brought forth another spurt of blood.

As he bent down to her eye level, she met his gave unflinchingly. It was rather ironic really to see a young man who had only moments ago accused her of assault making what was clearly a veiled threat against her.
"My guardian has most certainly taught me that the pure of heart are rewarded and the wicked always punished," she stated, placing great weight behind these words. To the untrained ear, it would probably sound as though she was simply assuring Mihail that she had indeed been taught well by her guardian, that she understood the meaning of discipline and knew to whom her obedience was due. But to those who knew her, followed a similar train of thought or had the natural ability to read correctly the hidden meaning in others' words, they would know that the statement had another meaning also. I am pure, I am innocent. You are evil. One day, I will triumph over you.

She listened quietly as he gave direction to the detention room, nodding her head in appreciation. "Thank you," she murmured, her smile now untainted with double meaning, but simply a warm and radiant beam. It slowly chilled as he spoke again. Carefully, she raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, looking to all who might pass the picture of innocence.

"I assure you, I had no intention of frightening you with Liza's name. I have no need to ask her now anyway as you have so graciously given me directions. But, Sir, surely you are mistaken. You cannot outrank her, for although you are Head Boy and she Deputy Head Girl, you are not the son of the Headmaster," she delivered this news gently, her eyes fluttering to the floor as though she could not possibly stand to cause him upset. "I am sure, however, that you are very valuable to Mr. Farrow," she added in what could definitely be perceived as a concillitory manor should anybody hear the words as they passed by.

He was checking his watch again. Myfanwy nodded, taking one final opportunity to claim the role of the victim who had tried to put things right as she sputted a teacher strolling by. "Oh, of course, I do hope your meeting goes well. I'm truly sorry again about your shoes and your watch. If you change your mind about the watch though, I know an excellent watchmaker who can set it back to the right time with no trouble at all," she extended a hand to him for a goodbye shake. Her nails were polished to perfection, her skin smooth, soft and snowy. "See you tonight."

message 10: by Aly (last edited Feb 12, 2020 12:52PM) (new)

Aly (poaly1998) | 145 comments Mod

"Being a woman does not excuse you from being able to cause physical harm. In case it has escaped your notice - and by looks, I would say it probably has - we are in the twenty-first century. I can assure you that any of my sisters could likely tackle a man twice her size if she so needed to." All the Toussaint children, male or female, knew how to hold their own against others, and Mihail knew full well that not one of his sisters would allow a man to harm her without holding her own against him. "However, we are not here to discuss gender equality. Assault, as I have stated, is an act which threatens harm, whether or not said harm is done. My macchiato was hot and, therefore, by causing me to spill it, you might have caused me harm. You certainly caused harm to my shoes, and that I do not allow. This is not a matter for further debate."

He chose to ignore her nonsensical argument that Elizabeth might hold a higher rank than he, knowing full well that it was not true. Solely because she was the daughter of the headmaster did not mean she held authority over him: she was no more than a child, and it was her father who held any power. Any individuals who believed otherwise clearly had a weak grasp of how power worked or was transferred between people. Besides, Mihail was perfectly aware that his family could crush hers easily, for they often handled high-class targets with little concern. The only statement Myfanwy had made that was clearly correct was that he was valuable to their headmaster. He knew that much to be accurate, for his academic record had always been perfect, and he was an exemplary student in every other regard.

Was she attempting to suck up to a passing professor? It was almost comical, but Mihail almost mimicked the action by offering the man a polite smile in greeting. "Thank you," he replied, perhaps genuinely appreciative of her hope that things go well in his meeting, though he did not respond to her offer as to his watch, for the brand required specific fixing, and her proposal would not help. Mihail took her hand, shaking it lightly before he adjusted the sit of his bag strap over his shoulder, already starting to walk away. "And once more: do not be late."

[[ RP Ended | Continued HERE ]]

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