Your mind to my mind, Lynne

[Headmaster Tobin]

The afternoon rut was beginning to set in. After waking up at five AM sharp and going almost nonstop, the headmaster usually began to feel drained by the mid-afternoon. Not tired, but certainly worn out. It didn't help that nothing too out of the ordinary or even particularly interesting had happened. There had been the usual mountains of paperwork, a few dealings with problem students, discussions with the staff, and finally his afternoon pick-me-up of plain tea. No cream, no sugar, only tea.

However, things were bound to become much more interesting, and quickly too. Any moment, now, and one particularly infamous student would be walking through his office door. He couldn't help but pity her--she seemed incurable and pathetic, but at the same time he could not deny that it was extremely difficult to be bored when Lynne Oliver was around, and this particular meeting was going to be very different from the ones they had in the past. It would be a welcome change from routine, indeed.

This time, he wanted to do nothing more than speak to her. He could scarcely remember the last time her for reasons other than disciplinary action, but he was certain it had happened. The specific memories just slipped his mind, that was all. And was he getting so old that his mind was starting to decay? Hopefully not, but this was not the time to think of such things. Now was the time to prepare to speak to one who refused to listen.

Donovan reached for the silver pot on his desk and refilled his cup, which was white with blue and yellow flowers. It was quite obvious that the china did not belong to him (it had been brought up from the kitchens) because of the hideous way it clashed with his rich, robust surroundings. His eyes fell on the cup and idly watched the steam rise while he waited both for the liquid to cool and for a knock on the door. She was taking longer than she should to arrive, likely on purpose.

[Lynne Oliver]

Lynne knew well enough that she had somewhere to be, and that was exactly thee reason why she was taking her sweet time with getting there. Along the way down twisting halls, she stopped to say 'hello' to everyone, sometimes tarrying around a bit longer for a quick conversation. She paid no attention to how much time this all took. After all, he never specified a time, so no matter how long she took, she could never technically be late. Though, even if he had given her a time, Lynne would not have been eager to show up quickly. Experience told her that this would likely end in a rough paddling.

Nearly everyone she passed met her with looks of shock and sometimes disgust; few of them knew about the mutilation she had caused to once lovely hair. Mutilation really was the right word, since Lynne was already beginning to regret it and feel ugly. But would she let that show? Never. She just walked on in her usual way, head held high, mischievous smirk on her face, and still stopping to chat as if nothing out out of the ordinary had happened.

Lynne came up to that ever-dreaded door--and a good fifteen minutes after her presence had been requested. Part of her was curious to see what Old Don would think of her new hairstyle, and the other part was terrified of just what that same reaction would be. After bracing herself with a slow, deep breath, Lynne reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it.

Despite what she led on to believe, Lynne was quite frightened of authority, and that fear was taking hold of her now. Her heart was racing, breathing quick, and palms sweaty. As she opened that door she hoped that this little meeting would be over very soon.