[Jarod Nightingale] It's interesting how two people can operate in similar circles and somehow never manage to run into each other. Like a couple of people working on opposite ends of an office who just might happen to fall madly in love if they ever happened to look up from their work and notice the cute guy or girl across the way. This was most assuredly not that kind of circumstance, but Jarod and the girl formerly known to him as Enid had both been moving through the Foreign Languages building of Northwestern's main campus for nearly the entire semester now - and yet neither of them had ever happened to notice the other. This was probably due in large part to the fact that Jarod's class was held in the morning, and Morgan's was in the afternoon. The TAs for the Chinese department all shared an office, so there was no door bearing the name Nightingale for the Hermetic to pass by and wonder at. Likely chance was, he was the last person she might expect to see when she walked into Advanced Mandarin on Monday.
But... there he was. Looking every inch the part of the stylishly professional in a pair of tailored black pants and a matching vest and tie over a white collared shirt (no jacket.) It was a stark contrast from the business-casual that most of the other TAs wore. Morgan might wonder what he was doing there (it wasn't as though they kept up with each other, after all - she didn't even know he was back in school) but a brief bit of logical deduction might derive the answer. There was no sign of her usual teacher, and Jarod was standing at the front of the classroom, leaning against the desk with a briefcase opened up atop it.
When the red-haired girl walked in, he looked at her, and after a brief moment of what might have been surprise (one couldn't really tell, but his gaze did linger for a long moment, as if reassuring himself that he wasn't imagining things,) a slow smile spread across his face. Something dryly amused. "Well fancy meeting you here."
[Morgan Lake] There are things to know, really, for people who think they know Morgan Lake (or The Girl Formerly Known As Enid Geraint). There are reasons that, even as a frightened, only recently awakened magus, she'd held herself with an air of easy confidence. There are reasons that, even then, she'd spoken with an easy eloquence (amongst her pop culture references and the like). They'd been hints, really, and are nothing on the way she commands her space now with cool, observant efficiency, with a look that makes those around her sit straighter and listen harder, with an aura of sheer potential. There is nowhere for this girl to go but up; that she's meant for bigger and better things is written all over her as clearly as her bright red hair stands out in a sea of blond, brown and black.
She is, of course, the youngest person in this class.
She's also the one with the best marks, if he chooses to look over the usual TA's notes.
She's also been gone awhile, or so is the gist of the conversation that's ending as she walks into the classroom to look for their usual TA with her customary smile (people know she'll make it to the top because she's ambitious and at least a little bit ruthless. Less generous people say she'll make it because she's so good at kissing ass), which falters only slightly when she's sees Jarod there, looking back at her. Speaking to her.
"Jar . . . Mr. Nightingale. What are you doing here?" If she's surprised, she's covering it well - and there's none of the instant animosity she used to show. What there is, really, is cool, polite, indifference. Everyone has to grow up sometime.
[Jarod Nightingale] Had he looked at the roster, he'd have known that Morgan was in this class, but as of yet he had not. He was, as it turned out, a last minute substitution. Which Morgan and the rest of her class was about to discover. His smile broadened a bit when she asked him what he was doing there, and he lifted off of the desk to take a couple of steps toward where she stood near the classroom door.
"Take a seat and you'll find out." The tone of his voice was more playful than it was commanding, as if offering a dare. But soon enough that moment of humor passed, and his air of professionalism returned as he closed the door and addressed the class. "As I'm sure you all noticed, I am not Alicia. Unfortunately she needed to take a sick day, so she asked me to fill in for her."
When he walked back to the whiteboard, he uncapped a pen and wrote out his name in neat, elegant handwriting. "My name is Jarod." (He did not say Mr. Nightingale. That was far too old and stuffy for a TA.) "I teach one of the morning sections. And, from what I can tell from her notes, you guys are about a chapter behind schedule, so we'll be covering a lot of material today. But I'm sure you can handle it. You guys look like bright and capable human beings."
Well, point in fact, at the moment they mostly looked like your average selection of college students. One group of girls in particular seemed to be rather preoccupied with whispering to each other while shooting regular glances over at their substitute. At which point Jarod leveled a gaze in their direction. "Any good gossip going around? Did the Department Chair sleep with one of the TAs again?"
As it turned out, no one in the class had known that she'd even done it the first time (not that this was technically against any rules.) At the question, one of the girls turned around guiltily and asked if he'd ever done any modeling. (Because she could have sworn she'd seen him in a magazine somewhere.) To which Jarod replied: "I used to. But, I'm afraid that is a story for another day."
And then the bell rang, and class began officially, and true to his word, Jarod did indeed push them through a lot of material. He was fairly relaxed about it though, never yelling or criticizing anyone for making mistakes. When confronted with someone who clearly hadn't been doing their homework, he pointed it out teasingly rather than sternly. He'd lost a bit of his sharpness - or at least, seemed to have. Perhaps they'd both done a bit of growing up.
Eventually the class ended, and students began filing out. Some of them remained to ask him some questions or to chat idly, which he humored pleasantly enough. Once he was able to break free, however, he walked over and pulled out a desk next to where Morgan had been sitting, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially: "I accept bribes, by the way."
He was kidding, of course. Or, well. One would hope.
[Morgan Lake] Where Morgan is still sitting, in fact, her legs crossed primly at the ankle and tucked beneath her, laptop open to show pictures of . . . well, it looks like (and is) a courtroom somewhere. There's Morgan in one of the pictures - larger than thumbnail, but hardly full screen - at the end of the prosecution's bench with notes a-plenty in front of her. She'd been speaking in fluent Mandarin if a bit slowly for the benefit of the young man and young woman still lingering with her, looking over her pictures, but now? Well. Where Jarod's lost some of his sharpness, Morgan seems to have gained it; she doesn't bother to close the window containing the pictures (and, by appearances, at least had the courtesy to wait for class to end - or at least trickle to next to nothing - before opening it), but does give her companions a dismissive sort of look that has them gathering their things and saying they'll see her Wednesday and taking their leave.
She's quiet for a moment, simply studying Jarod (and it's not particularly comfortable, that study - no, she has the sort of eyes that see every. little. detail - never mind that he's an Adept and she's most definitely not) before she eases out a smile. It seems genuine, that, if not particularly warm or kind - but no one's accused her of those traits in quite some time. (Her mother, somewhere, might be proud. Her father, significantly nearer, might not.)
"You do." It's not a question, but never let it be said that Morgan can't tease in return - she can, and quite often these days, the people receiving her banter never know what hit them when she's done. Idly, as she speaks, she reaches back to pull out the two pencils holding her hair up and out of her way; this act holds a few purposes, really. "I could direct you to the people who might need someone to accept them, if you'd like. When did you come back to school?"
Not that she knows him well at all - but she does know that he hadn't been a student at any prior point in their acquaintance.
[Jarod Nightingale] As one might expect, he took the penetrating nature of her gaze in stride. This was, after all, a man who used to make a living as an object of other people's intense scrutiny. (More than that, he'd grown up in a family of people who turned cold gazes into an art form.) Morgan's changed demeanor was noticed and cataloged. Perhaps he found it intriguing, but if so he didn't say anything. Instead he leaned back in the desk and glanced at the pictures on her laptop. He didn't ask about these either.
"Just this semester. I found myself with some free time and figured I'd take advantage of it." He held off responding to her teasing suggestion until after the remaining couple of students had left the room. "As for bribes, I only make the offer to students I'm especially fond of. And to whom I owe an apology for acting like a raging asshole once upon a time."
The apology, such as it was, was stated with a bit if wry humor, though Morgan may not remember the events in question with quite as much detached amusement as he did.
[Morgan Lake] An eyebrow raises high, perfectly arched, over a hazel (brighter green than usual at the moment, with the vivid colors near her face) eye as she toys with the hair she's let down, twirling it around her finger. There's distance there, carefully calculated, but mostly? There's truth. Or Truth, depending on how one looks at it. "Being fond of Ashley doesn't mean you have to be fond of me. But thank you for your apology all the same."
It's wry, that, and amused; there's never been love lost between the two of them, not since the very first time they met, and Morgan knows it. Jarod was, at best, indifferent. The days she could muster the same in his presence were phenomenal, and she's holding back a blush thinking of that shared past by . . . well, by sheer willpower, one supposes.
"I guess I should offer some sort of apology as well. I was hardly pleasant company at the time." Not that she is now, either, but it's different; the prickles have smoothed, honed, become far more subtle. She's become the sort of blade that cuts without giving notice, and leaves the injury invisible until it drips blood at some random later point. "But that was . . . a long time ago, really. You're well, I hope?"
[Jarod Nightingale] There might have been any number of explanations for the man's seeming change of heart regarding the young Initiate. Perhaps Morgan was right in assuming that his relationship (such as it was) with Ashley had something to do with it. Perhaps Jarod himself had changed - become a slightly gentler, more personable sort of creature. Perhaps he simply preferred Morgan's company more now that she was an adult. Or maybe he hadn't changed at all, and he really just wanted to annoy Tom by getting closer to the Hollow One's seeming object of infatuation. (That sounded like the kind of thing Jarod would do.)
Whatever the case, he seemed less disinterested today. There was no sense of bored superiority. Aloof, perhaps. He was nearly always that - even with Ashley. But not disinterested. He was still the same exquisitely handsome creature - like something out of a fantasy world where cats could turn into people - but it seemed easier to talk to him because he made himself more approachable. That in itself was notable enough to get raised brow out of the austere girl seated beside him.
"You were just being a teenager." He stated this with a light shrug. "Should have seen me when I was seventeen." (Probably a good thing that she couldn't.) "I'm absolutely lovely darling. And yourself? Undertaking adventures of a suitably classy and mysterious nature, I hope."
[Morgan Lake] Morgan hasn't actually talked to Thomas (such a formal creature, she - protocol and precedent, form and function) in awhile; there has been an adventure of a suitably classy and mysterious nature, at least as far as she's concerned. "I was invited to sit in on a case," she says with a shrug, as if every second year pre-law student gets such invitations - which is absolute nonsense, as Jarod's sure to know. The only students who get that kind of invitation are either sleeping with someone important, or bright and rising stars in their chosen fields.
Two guesses as to which Morgan is.
This new attention, though, it throws her - she fidgets with her hair and doesn't quite look at him directly, as if to do so might burn her eyes. (This is not a conscious thing; in fact, if she realized she was doing it she'd be angry and some of those prickles might return. This is, in truth, why Jarod infuriates her the most. Because with anyone else, she knows where she stands. The ground is solid, the sky is blue, and so on. With him, though, it's hard to remember to breathe. He fills all the available space until there isn't any room for her, and she can't think straight. When she first met him, it was infinitely worse, and calculated . . . but she remembers that, and her reactions to it, and it's not a part of herself she likes.)
"It was . . . kind of a big deal. You know, for a law student." And she isn't even one yet, not fully; maybe he'd known she was heading there or maybe not, but it's likely less surprising than finding her in a just-below-grad-level Chinese class. "But mostly, it's been nose to a few different grindstones." Which is also . . . probably not at all surprising. "What're you back in school for?"
[Jarod Nightingale] Morgan's behavior wasn't lost on him, of course. One could imagine that Jarod was the sort of person who was always very conscious of the effect he had on other people. In fact, given their past interactions, Morgan probably knew full well that this was exactly the kind of person he was. It gave him a tactical advantage in social situations - particularly when speaking with girls (or boys who liked boys) that were much younger and less experienced than he was. Morgan was not a child. She was more than capable of subtlety and self-control. But even a very self-possessed 19 year old was still a 19 year old. And he had an entire decade on her. (More, truthfully - when one took into account just how early he'd gotten started in this particular game.)
She spoke about her academic opportunity (an opportunity hard-won, no doubt) as though it was the sort of thing that every pre-law undergrad had the chance to participate in. Law was not Jarod's field of expertise, but he understood enough to know that this was hardly the case. One of his eyebrows lofted slightly, until she added, off-handedly, that it was kind of a big deal. Then he grinned and laughed softly. A moment of wry amusement. "Sounds like it. You've been a busy girl."
She wasn't the only one of them who'd had a few important career opportunities come her way, but for now the Disciple seemed disinclined to speak about them. Morgan may have noticed the increasing visibility he'd been getting in the States, both in print and in runway shows, but that was all over now. He'd retired after Fashion Week back in February. (And never looked back.) Then again, perhaps she wasn't really the sort of girl who paid attention to fashion magazines.
"I'm on a PhD track program in the Comm Studies department. Rhetoric and Public Culture, more specifically." This was the kind of degree that sounded vaguely like something a PR person would study - how to manipulate the public through communication. "They let me teach in the language department because the classes here are always short on TAs."
He watched her for a moment as she twisted her hair. As she did not meet his gaze. Then he leaned over and reached out to brush some of those red strands behind her ear and away from her face. It would make it more difficult for her to hide behind it, but today he wasn't trying to make her uncomfortable - not really. "How's Tommy doing?" he asked, as if purely out of curiosity.
[Morgan Lake] Fashion magazines aren't Morgan's thing and never really have been; she graduated from Seventeen before she hit that vaunted age and never bothered with Cosmo or any of the things that come after it, let alone the true fashion rags. Her pop culture references come from movies and TV shows and are as often as not peppered with Arthurian allusions as well, given the mythos she'd been steeped in since conception. (Even when she'd been given opportunity to choose her own name, her own identity, she hadn't strayed far from that.) She knows from occasional talk with Ashley (not that they talk about Jarod much) that things have been happening, but that's about it; she's never considered him a friend, and thus hadn't considered his career any of her business. And yet, here they are. It's not a thing she'd have imagined happening, nor one she was prepared for.
He speaks of his program, and she smirks a little, still more at the hair absently twisting and twirling between her fingers than at him - before he tucks it behind her ear, obviously - and says, "When I get that far, my specialty will be public policy and international relations." Or, how to manipulate people through the legal process. "Sort of a different angle on a similar thing, I guess. And that's awesome that they let you teach. I tutor sometimes, but it doesn't carry the same weight as a TA position does. Next year or the one after, maybe."
Then, he's reaching out and touching her; this startles her, catches her breath in her throat, and when she finally does look at him - meet his gaze - her eyes are wide and her face young, until she pulls herself back into control. (He's just a guy. Not even my type. How is he doing this, and why?)
"I . . . um. Haven't talked to him in awhile. I tried to help, when it all went down - not in the actual thing, but in his coming back from it. It didn't do any good, the things I tried, and my work elsewhere was starting to suffer." So she'd more or less cut her losses, for awhile at least. Now she's back to a point where she could focus, but she hasn't tried yet - there's guilt for that, somewhere, and embarrassment at having given up. Maybe she thinks it makes her a bad person, to have not stood by her friend (or whatever they'd been to each other) when he needed her.
Maybe she's not really capable of making a decision different than the one she did. Morgan's always had her eye on the prize, after all.
[Jarod Nightingale] For all their seeming incompatibility, these two Willworkers had a few key elements in common. Namely, they were both people who, when push came to shove, would do almost anything to achieve their goals. They were driven and self-oriented. One might call that selfish, and it was, but selfishness in reasonable doses was a necessary survival skill. No one who ever achieved anything had done it without at least some measure of selfishness. Even great humanitarians who devoted their lives to a cause inevitably neglected their own friends and family.
In this, Jarod did not seem to judge her. On the contrary, he looked as if he understood (though that might not be much of a comfort, given the source.) "Sorry to hear that," he said, and for what it was worth, his voice sounded genuine. "You shouldn't feel guilty, though. You can't help people who don't want to be helped. If you try, they'll just drag you down with them." Here he settled his arms on the flat part of the desk, folding them as he leaned there, watching her.
[Morgan Lake] "I guess," she answers, and then, "I don't even know how he's doing now, or what. You've probably talked to him more recently than I." Though she knows, of course, that there was no love lost between the two, even if she doesn't know the whys and wherefores of the situation. Neither of them is asking for representation and nothing's come to blows (her guess is Jarod doesn't care and the animosity's on Thomas' side), so perhaps she feels it isn't her business.
She's quiet (awkward in a way she hasn't been for quite some time, and she's so very irritated with herself for it) for a long moment, then says with a cutely wrinkled nose, "I was always closer with my dad, but I think I might be more . . . like my mom." Minus the whole attempted reprogramming, of course. "And I don't really want to be. I certainly don't try to be."
Every girl fears turning into her mother - Morgan has more reason to fear it than most, though she's already shown her interests and talents don't lie that way, even if they would be useful there. But then, her brow furrows - she might say something like that to Ashley (who wouldn't particularly understand, and would think it's a problem to be solved and try to offer advice, but who would also listen and probably give Morgan a hug if she needed it), but to Jarod? Or anyone else, really?
"You're . . . it's nice, not arguing or insulting each other and all, don't get me wrong. But why are you talking to me?" She has her reasons for wariness and reserve.
[Jarod Nightingale] "Thomas and I don't talk," Jarod responded to this with a wry twist of amusement at the corner of his mouth. "On the rare occasion we happen to see each other, he glowers and I ignore him." So yes, Morgan's assumption here seemed to be largely correct. Though stating that Jarod didn't care at all wasn't entirely accurate. He had to care a little, or he wouldn't take such perverse joy in driving the poor Hollow One batshit crazy. (Then again, maybe he just liked fucking with people. One might accuse him of having done precisely that to Morgan, once upon a time. One could definitely accuse of him having done it to Ashley.) "Last I saw of him, he was running away from a tornado."
Morgan was quiet for a moment, then she mentioned her mother (who of course Jarod had heard about, but nothing beyond the fact that the woman was a technocrat who'd tried to kidnap and reprogram her own daughter.) It was uncharacteristically vulnerable of her, the kind of quietly-voiced anxiety that people tended to share with close friends. If he was surprised by it though, he didn't show it, taking the shift in conversation in stride and listening with quiet interest. He was never what one might call a confidant. His visage and behavior seldom made people feel entirely at-ease, and no matter how he behaved there was always the sense that he must have some ulterior motive. This was partially his own fault for perpetuating that image, and partially an assumption that people commonly made about him because he was clever and also very contained. To invite vulnerability in others, one had to give an equal measure in return.
But for all that, he could be a good listener. People interested him, and he usually didn't much care to talk about himself.
She asked him why he was talking to her, and he uttered a whisper-soft laugh. "Because you're here, and I'm curious. I really don't dislike you, you know. I never did."
[Morgan Lake] "No, I didn't really think you did. I just figured you like pushing buttons, and mine happened to be easy to push." She's forthright, honest (her Word is Verity, after all - she could hardly be anything else), and possibly at least a bit disarming with it in the right company. It will serve her well in the future, one imagines, if she tempers it with those moments of vulnerability and those of keen insightfulness (though he hasn't witnessed those yet) as she still seems to be learning to do. Lips twist up a bit now, wryly amused, and since she started looking at him (pushed into it or not), she hasn't stopped. Her gaze is direct and strong, as she is growing up to be. "I hope it was entertaining, anyway, though I think I've grown out of it. I can hope, right?"
She thinks (knows, really) that he just saw an annoying kid who was easily poked. Worse is knowing that he wasn't completely wrong.
There's a glance at her watch (a small-faced thing on a delicate gold band of the sort that girls are given for graduation or sweet sixteens) and startlement comes over her face. "I have to go - there's a lecture I'm going to be late for if I don't move it. But." Here, there's amusement again, with a bit of rue in it. "If we're on campus at the same time, we should have coffee sometimes. If, of course, you can stand hanging out with a lowly undergrad." She's teasing, mostly - not in the invitation itself, that's genuine enough, but in the rest. She doesn't expect him to say yes or even maybe . . . but she is who she is. She's a girl who Awakened when she already knew she had limitless potential, and she's stuck amongst a bunch of people who are so far behind her in so many ways, it's more pitiable than anything else. This sort of thing? Could help make it more palatable.
[Jarod Nightingale] "More like you asked for them to be pushed," he corrected with dry humor, but there wasn't any bite to it. More than likely he'd asked for the things she'd said and done to him as well, and if pressed, would probably shrug and admit to as much. When she asked if he'd want to get coffee, he didn't behave as if he found this suggestion humorous or beneath him. Instead he nodded and... smiled. "Sure. Maybe I'll drop in on you some day and steal you off."
But playfulness aside, Morgan had a schedule to keep, which was something he understood all too well, so with that, he'd let her go, and after she'd left the room, he gathered up his things and headed off to go attend to his office hours.
