“I’ve read it,” she said, fighting to keep the misery out of her voice. In the old days this would have put Tibby on a cloud, some young woman talking about how wonderful her writing was and how inspired she had been by the book, done nothing but inflate her head and make her think…’actually you know what, I am sort of brilliant’. But those were the days when she could sit quietly on her secret and smirk at a dinner party before going home with her wife, and to a job she loved every day. And all for that dirty book. Years of her life had gone on that book, all the research and drafting, all chewed up and spat out.

“Genius? I wouldn’t call him a genius,” snorted Tibby into her drink. There were parts she longed to revise, tweaks and character motivation she would have liked to explore more or less. Because Mr Tucker demanded the damn thing never be finished, never be moved on from. “You have to admit, the depictions of sexual acts are a little on the gratuitous side and it feels as though some of the scenes were written purely to shock, not for any real contribution to the story itself. That final scene in the brothel? Should have been cut altogether, if you ask me.”

She emptied her drink and asked for another, catching up with Mira finally. “And he hasn’t written anything since has he? The proof of an author is in the second novel. I think this was just a one hit wonder, a passing fad.” But Tibby wanted to write something new, she desperately did. But in her own way, she wanted Mr Tucker dead. Dead and gone.

“I’m sorry about patronizing you about your drinking, though. Of course you know how to handle your booze,” she smiled, tipping her head to the side, now getting desperate in her attempts to shift the topic. “Since you like wicks and drinking so much, shall we stop pretending to be ladies and just have a flask or two of gingcot, seperates a wick from his money! You did say you wanted to have some fun.”

"I admire audacity," she responded blankly, "Even if most gollies can't swallow it." She didn't favor most gollies, either. On a basic level she understood that they weren't all bores, that she was simply the outlandish one, but she was the way she was because she felt it was the way to be.

It was definitely the way for her to be to escape the suffocating confines of her home, of her family, of her expectations. She spoke of marrying some filthy old novelist with a talent for causing a ruckus even as the notion of marriage itself repulsed her. If she could achieve a level of masculinity or infamy or even sin that would keep anyone from ever wanting her, she would consider herself lucky. She did not want to belong. To belong was to be owned.

Her mood was just about soured when Tabitha apologized and made her offer. "You're right," she conceded, a wry smile forming on her lips. "Let us have a gingcot for the lady and some straight chrove's erse for me," she told the wick, some of her playfulness returning to her eyes.

Tibby accepted the drink, happy that the subject of the bloody book had passed. The longer conversation lingered over the subject of her book, the harder it got. But of course the girl would never suspect, nobody ever did. Mr Tucker was different things to different people, the monster suckling the life from Tibby, an old man, a lecherous wick corrupting the minds of young galdori but he was never ever a small school teacher who's worst deviance was to cut her hair short and occasionally go off topic in her lessons.

"Chrove's erse? My my," said Tibby with a coquettish smile, "I am impressed."

There were a few things that Tibby would do now, were this actually legitimate and not a drink with a student that Tibby would never allow to stray into unethical territory, a hand on Mira's knee, leaning in closer, coy hints and not so subtle ones. Honestly, who allowed students in to the stacks? She couldn't be the only younger teacher who enjoyed a drink and a flirt now and then. But there were so many married faculty members and Tibby hadn't minded so much in Mers because she had been one of them.

Tibby missed Cleo something fierce at that moment. Those first few meetings when Tibby had tried to ply the woman with drinks when she had just laughed, hand on her hip 'I know what you're trying to do you know,' Cleo had said slyly, wicked beautiful grin widening, 'and you should know. It isn't necessary.' They left the bar promptly after that and the next afternoon, in between the sheets Tibby had known he was hooked.

And you didn't just fall out of love with somebody because you had to.

"And it seems I was wrong, so very wrong," she grinned. " Do you regularly spend nights out in the stacks, knocking back chroves erse?"

Impressed or not, Mira was definitely trying to prove something at this point. What she was trying to prove and who she was trying to prove it to were unclear, especially to her. In all likelihood, ordering a shot of a powerful drink that she had never once tasted before was a show of bravado after a painful blow. She really had let herself believe that Ms. Tabitha Gauchey would be someone she could talk to at length about many things, perhaps even at many times in the future. Someone she wouldn't just drag along on a self-indulgent escapade or two before discarding her like so much rubbish.

Everybody makes mistakes.

The shot hit the back of her throat like a hot iron, eyes screwed shut as her whole face scrunched into a small, wrinkled grimace. After two beats her eyes and mouth shot open the way eyes and mouths normally did once they'd tasted air after nearly drowning. "Yar'aka!!" She exclaimed, followed by a gleeful - and relieved - laugh. "Now we're getting somewhere!" That 'somewhere' was the glassy land of skewed perspective, inappropriate hilarity, and sauciness. The girl was nowhere near unconscious, but the drink did alter her consciousness more radically than those cobblers had.

"Why, not at all, miss Tabi," she responded, her tone highly serious in spite of the lopsided grin she gave Tabitha, "I've never touched the stuff before... it really does kick you in the throat, that's for certain!" Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, the red-faced student peered up at the schoolteacher, yellow eyes beaming. "What do you do on regular nights, Tabi? Tell me that. Please do. Tell me you're not as boring as you pretend to be."

Tibby blinked. Of course, she’d been called boring before- she was a teacher of course and tumultuous personal life or not there were always students who would sigh and roll their eyes and mutter ‘but this is soo boring’- she tried to avoid it as often as she could but there were some aspects of ethics that not all students, particularly the younger ones would have to endure. She smiled and took it on the chin, but in her personal life, outside of the school environment this label of ‘boring’ stung just a little. Because Tibby did so hate to be boring.

“I suppose anything when done consistently could be classified as boring,” she smiled. “If I went out table dancing every night in the stacks, flashed my bloomers at any passing gent and took home a different woman every night after about ten years that might seem boring,” she signaled the barman and ordered a chrove’s erse herself.

“Variety, I find is the spice of life,” grinned Tibby, “trying new things. I like trying new things.” Knocking back her own drink and wincing as it burned she looked at Mira and had to laugh.

“Are you alright?”

And then because she was very drunk and because well, Tibby had a streak of vanity about her and did so want to appear ‘cool’ to the younger generation and because, clocks, Mira was pretty drunk and probably wouldn't remember it the next day she leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll let you in on a secret…” dramatic pause for effect, “I’ve met Mr. Tucker you know.”

Mira giggled at her illustration. She did have a way with imagery. "That might bore you after ten years," she countered, "but there's a big difference between boring yourself and boring other people. Boring yourself is your own fault. So where does getting sloshed with schoolgirls in the Stacks fall for you: boring or spicy?"

The young woman suddenly looked confused when asked if she was alright. The confusion soon broke as the teacher's laughter infected her. "I think so... but who knows? Maybe not!" Her answer was as chipper as it was non-committal. The alcohol did something to her facial muscles to make her look more good-natured than was normal for her. The girl normally wore a look of 'I'm in my own little world, and it's much better than yours' on every aspect of her face.

She looked a bit amused when Tabitha leaned in so close, then looked both skeptical and stricken when the words had left her mouth. For a long moment, Mira simply stared at her. "Oh?" She said finally, doing a very bad job of feigning disinterest. "Well. What is he like?" The curiosity that welled up in her was far too large to contain, and it was as if she had never even tried to hide it. Ms. Gauchey continued to surprise her - was she not so obviously desperate to cease discussing said man and his scandalous book?

“It’s been done,” grinned Tibby again though she winced at the ‘school girl’ moniker just a little. “But it isn’t boring, definitely not.” As for the Mr. Tucker comment, Tibby as predicted almost immediately regretted bringing it up again however purposefully she had done.

“Like you’d expect,” she said trying to sound prim, but she was slowly growing looser and looser around the edges. “Well, I mean…he’s younger than most people think. Good sense of humor,” she smiled and called to mind Alfred for a few dim moments, her publisher, her best friend. Mr Tucker was at least partially his so he seemed a nice enough replacement. “Wicked sense of humor, really. And…an eternal bachelor bless him, so many pretty women. He could fall in love with twenty at a time I tell you. But he’s bright too, but very arrogant. And I still stand by my criticisms of the book.”

A remincisent little smile dawned over her face as she went back into that world of the past, before Mira was…gracious before she was even born. Perhaps, with that dreamy look something could be interpreted as love, and she did so dearly love her friend. She should write to Alfred, despite everything he was her friend and he’d never betrayed her like Cleo. But everything was spoilt now, Tibby couldn’t deny that. It was the ghost of that baby and the memory of so many ill thought out nights.

“Of course this is strictly confidential. I don’t need to tell you that if anyone suspected him, the poor man could be ruined.”

She pursed her lips and looked at her, talking candidly for the first time in the evening really. “Strange little Mug girl, I’m not sure how you did that…dragging all of this out of me. It’s pathetic but somehow I feel like I want to impress you. A grown woman going out of her way and talking on things she ought not to impress a school girl, did you ever hear such a thing?”

Mira, still leaning her elbows on her knees and looking up as if at someone much taller, unconsciously grasped her own hand, squeezing and twisting it like some old rag. Mr. Tucker sounded like any other celebrity, especially authors: sharp within their element, yet hopelessly romantic. She vaguely wondered if his life was at all like a romance novel, or if his many interests lacked any real interest in him. He didn't sound like anyone extraordinary. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so nervous, her hand sorely paying the price.

It was the expression in Tibby's eyes. One would think the schoolteacher had just stripped naked from the way the girl's heart raced at the sight of her. "Of course," she answered automatically, feeling no desire to share this information with anyone. What was it about those eyes, and that smile? They were aimed not at Mira, not at any thing or one in the Den or perhaps even in this world. For once she felt as if she had seen too much, intruded upon something that was never meant to be any of her business or concern. That something made her highly uncomfortable, and it also made her smile back.

She had an odd appreciation for being made to feel uncomfortable.

"I'm a person, too, Tabi," she answered with the mildest form of indignation possible. She did realize the woman was trying to insult herself. It was normal for older adults to look down on the younger ones as if their feelings, thoughts, ideas, and lives somehow mattered less. The messy-haired girl just sort of watched her face now. Mira lived mostly to meet impressive people and do impressive things, but she wasn't really sure how to respond to someone's desire to impress her.

A person. Well of course, Tibby knew that. All of her students were people, ready to argue and absorb knowledge like little sponges, ready to question things, form opinions and constantly passing those silly little notes. They were people, Mira was a person. But she wasn’t a woman, even if she did masquerade inside one’s body quite spectacularly. She wasn’t to be wined and impressed upon like Tibby would do a woman.
Of course, she told herself, this would not be occurring to Mira- the line of thought Tibby’s mind had taken else she would have turned tail and run.

“No offence meant by that, darling, no no- deary me no.” She took a cigarette in her mouth once again and lit it, blowing a smoke ring into the air of the bar. “If tonight has taught me anything, it has taught me that you are indeed a person and a very opinioned one at that.”

She smiled and patted Mira’s hand gently, “You should have taken ethics, you know. Wonderful assets in my class. You would have been a wonderful asset to my class,” said Tibby

MY NAME IS TIBBY OH AND YES, BY THE WAY, HAVE I MENTIONED I AM A TEACHER TODAY? It was more for Tibby than Mira but it wasn’t long before she was finding herself unable to contain a burst of laughter, low little chirrup, a finch who smoked forty a day.

Mira's soft smile broke into a grimace as the woman patted her hand. It bothered her for some reason, bothered her in the same way that the redhead's dreamy expression had. It was an intriguing yet off-putting sort of discomfort. The actual words coming out of her mouth were non-speech.

"That's a really pointless thing to say," she replied dismissively. Truly, what point was there in talking about her ethics class at all? Actually talking about ethics would be one thing, but the way she kept returning to the fact of her unexciting job getting spoiled gollies to sit long enough to give a damn about universal virtues was, to be crass about it, clocking annoying.

"What are you laughing about?" She asked pointedly, managing to sound disinterested even as she laughed, too. Laughter was suddenly very funny to her. Everything was either very funny or very concerning. It had been quite a while since Mira had lost her bearings like this, and she wasn't entirely certain the alcohol was all there was to it.

Elihu hated people. No surprise there, anyone who talked to him for three minutes would ascertain this. He had a special distaste for the inebriated though. Ironic, perhaps, but true. There was something about the lowered inhibition and strong, free wheeling emotion of someone under the influence of alcohol that grated on his nerves.

Still, when an emergency happened, like his personal passive servant dropping his booze jug and thus spilling an amount of fortified wine, things had to be done. The passive had been taken care of, which was to say he had alerted the Patron and was assured his servant would be taken care of. Finding his wine was proving to be hard though. His normal dispensary had been shut down, it seemed. This was most irksome, he didn't know any other place that kept his favorite poison. Hanged man was an old wine name, one set aside for a wine that allowed the normal imbiber to see vapor trails as people passed by, and was normally drank from the bottle instead of from the glass.

Well, booze was booze and he could look for a place later. Now he needed to get some wine so he could return from this blasted place so awash with people and get back to his apartment. Hobbling across the street to the nearest place he could find, a bar with a name that the half blind professor couldn't read, he headed in and made his way to the bar.

"I shall have four bottles of the cheapest wine you have," he rasped out. So saying this to the bartender, he tiredly looked to his side where an incessant female voice was speaking. "Miss, I shall have to ask you to stop- you are a student." The flash of green was unmistakable, even if that was all he could see in his hazy vision. If he focused a bit more he could have taken more detail in, but he didn't care to. "Well, there is no reason, you shouldn't be, I suppose. Could you tell your little friend to-"

For a second time, he stopped mid sentence, because a cursory glance at the other chattering woman had made a few details clear. Eye shape, angle and slope of the chin, barely seen. Even with his little glance from his faulty eyes, these were very familiar. Half sober and angrier than usual these details pounded into his head, filling a face that he had seen rather recently. "Miss Gauchy, fancy seeing you here."

He looked from one to the other, and thought for a moment. If he'd had a bottle in hand, as was normal, he would have taken a drink. He didn't though, so he just stroked his beard a bit. "Do you normally do extracurricular tutoring in bars, Miss Gauchy? How dreadfully modern." his voice didn't have a hint of sarcasm, of any humor. It was the same monosyllabic sound of contempt that always emanated from it.

The way Tibby greeted Elihu one might have assumed he was a favourite old uncle that Tabitha hadn’t seen in ten years as opposed to a misanthropic work colleague who grumbled through every conversation she’d ever tried to engage him in and who had gotten blood all over her carpet on her first day. Tibby opened her arms wide and beamed at the man. “Hello Elihu, darling,” she grinned. It was probably the first time anyone had ever called Elihu anything so fond and it was a clear indication that Tibby had a little bit more to drink than one could manage to keep their head.

“I wouldn’t have suspected that you frequented bars called things like the ‘Pussy Cat Den,” said Tibby turning her body away from Mira into more socially acceptable body language. “Far too many people out tonight.”

Keeping strictly to the idea that this was definitely not out of the ordinary and definitely wouldn’t have maybe, just maybe gone somewhere that Tibby would have regretted with a graceful smooth movement of her hand Tibby gestured to Mira.

“This is Mira, an eighth year student, Mira- I don’t know if you know Professor Sturmvos. You may know of him,” she gave a wicked little grin, “His reputation as a professor, much like the waft of booze proceeds him,” she teased, unable to let the sense of distaste she always felt when thinking of Elihu’s instance that he kill himself slowly with alcohol and take classes sozzled bother her in this state.

"Oh but you must join us, I've been trying futiley to spark a passion for ethics in Mira, but I rather feel i've just been a terrible bore."

"Clocks!" She exclaimed, jumping into an upright position in her stool the moment the gruff voice wafted like a foul odor into her ears. The literal odor slammed into her face soon after as she and her drinking companion were approached by none other than one of her least favored ex-professors. Her startled eyes remained fixed on him as the curiously genial - and entirely superfluous - introductions took place, her lips a pointed frown.

"I've studied under the old crocodile before," she explained nonchalantly from her transfixed state of poised chagrin. Her hands were quite neatly clasped and tuck to her side as if she feared the leathery little lizard would drunkenly hiccup and snap her fingers off.

As professor and student, the two had gotten along just swimmingly. She was studious and always completed her assignments, always asked questions when necessary, and stayed out of his way for the most part. Her first time looking at his stink eye and smelling his stink had been quite enough of an argument in favor of looking at and speaking to him as seldom as possible. He was perhaps the only living... well, arguably living galdor whose attention she actively avoided.

The audacious half-mug who worked hard to fall just short of being a troublemaker had managed to stay out of his breathing space for over a year now, and now the shriveled shark just decided to waltz up to her while she was getting to know a girl... a lady... a teacher? ...oh, clocks, who cares? "Actually, Professor, I would prefer if you didn't join us - I already served my time!"

"Miss Delphinae. You are... sixth in my student index, grade wise." Elihu remembered the Half Mugrobi girl surprisingly well. She hadn't dropped his class, but made herself so scarce aside from the occasional question that he hadn't at all cared about her presence. He had no caveats with her and had no reason to give her anything but the most basic contempt he shared with all people.

"I can assure you that, apparently unlike the newer breed of professors, I endeavor not to meet my students in bars. Or indeed, in any manner if I can will it so." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel the pain in his lungs, new what was about to happen. With one hand and with a practiced ease that belied the fact this was not at all anything new, the professor brought out a new handkerchief and coughed into it with extreme violence. It almost sounded like something was rattling within it, the cough was so raspy. He finally was able to dispel whatever had irritated the almost collapsed membrane of those particular organs, and saw to no surprise that there was a little red dove shaped from blood and phlegm on the piece of cotton. Folding it back up, he placed it in his pocket with shaky hands. He had taxed his body with the coughing.

"As it is," he rasped, his voice even quieter. "I am afraid you shall have to deal with my presence until the porter comes back with my wine. Sadly, my usual dispensary has seen a change in ownership and I have come here merely to refortify my work desk." Something heard from Tibby raised his eyebrows, though the expression on his eyes remained unchanged. "The Pussy Cat Den? Really. Well at any rate, I shall be leaving as soon as the wine is in hand. Afterwhich, I shall be happy to relieve you of myself, and I of you."

“Yes, it used to be a cat sanctuary,” said Tibby distractedly before continuing in a stern voice- treating him more like a wayward student than she had done Mira the entire evening, “Sit down Eilihu. You look even closer to death than usual.”

She shot Mira a regretful sort of look that Tibby hoped said, ‘I’m sorry, I know you don’t want him here but he’s so very old I think he might drop dead at any minute if we let him step a foot outside on his own.’ Secretly of course, Tibby felt the man had come not a moment too soon.

“You do have your own way of leaving an impression on your students don’t you?” said Tibby, resuming her bright and breezy demeanour, smoothing over the small problem of neither of her companions wanting to spend time together. “Say what you like about us new professors versus the older generation, you do still seem to get the job done. Though with the aid of slightly more alcohol than I would like. What did you make of the old coot Mira?”

Realizing how difficult a task she had set herself, Tibby searched frantically for some common ground to delay Elihu’s departure, flinching slightly at the way Elihu said ‘meeting students in bars’ it made her sound so seedy. But what could she say really? We met outside and decided it might be fun to go out and get drunk together. “I can’t see the harm in it, Elihu…my father used to take a selct few of his older classes out to drinks whenever the exam period was over.” But that was, Tibby supposed a whole group of students, not just one. Really whichever way Tibby looked at it, this could appear slightly dodgy and she began to regret so zealously calling the old man over.

“How has your day been Professor?”

Her repulsed eyes stayed locked on the walking-dead academic, much in the same way as one who had just witnessed a train wreck, as Tabitha ushered him toward a seat near them at the counter. Of all the people in Brunnhold and of all times....

The glance she offered in exchange for the woman's apologetic one was icily distant. There wasn't a hint of concern in her for the hacking old man with nothing left to cling to but his booze, nor any compassion toward her vastly more sympathetic drinking partner. Mira normally would not be opposed to assisting the elderly, but she was staunchly against engaging in any activity that was unpleasant or unnecessary. Sharing Tabitha's company with Professor Sturmvos certainly felt like both.

With no more than a grunt in response to the solicitation of a review for the anthropology instructor, the young woman slid down from her stool, reached into both pockets, pulled out her coin purse from one, and daintily laid a few shills on the counter-top beside their emptied drinking glasses. Fetching her schoolbag from beneath her stool, she slung it on and stalked away from the pair without a word. All her movements were made slow and cautious from drunkenness, including her gait.

A little voice told her as she approached the door that Tabitha would be more difficult to phase out and move past than most.