Tarquin Fox-Reynolds
February 08, 2009 2:05 PM
Outside my comfort zone (tag: Headmaster Bulla) by Tarquin Fox-Reynolds
Tarquin had spent many fruitless afternoons at the library desk, a sheet of paper resting on a large hardback which was balanced against his curled up legs. As soon as anyone came within his line of sight, he clutched it protectively to his chest, as if someone was going to be able to read it from the other side of the room, through the entire thickness of Spellman’s Magical Dictionary and be able to decode what, to them, would be mirror writing. Eventually, after hours of blood, sweat and insecure shielding of his work, he had drafted a letter with which he was satisfied and it was at that point that he had finally acknowledged to himself that this was not a request that he could make in writing.Thus he now found himself pacing up and down the corridor outside the headmaster’s office. Was the man busy? There was an inspector snooping around the school. Perhaps now wasn’t a good time to be existing in any kind of noisy or intrusive way, much less having the nerve to ask for things. However, fearsome as the prospect of the headmaster, and talking to him about this was, Danny being disappointed or irritated with him was alarming in a whole other set of ways. And he wanted to get this sorted. He just wished he didn’t have to go through what he was sure was going to be a wince-making conversation to get there.
If he knocked on the door, that was it. Like pulling off a plaster. He wouldn’t be able to take it back. The wound would be exposed and he would have to deal with the fact that there could be blood everywhere. It wasn’t exactly a comforting metaphor. He’d been going over what he was going to say for days and days. Now, as he took the last fewsteps to the door practically at a run and forced himself to knock clearly three times, his mind had descended into that kind of clear fog. The kind where you know so exactly what you’re going to say that you are thinking about it, but not in words and thus, as what you are attempting to rehearse is a conversation which must take place in such a medium, you are also not thinking about it at all.
Once called in, it was initially only his head that made an appearance, nervously peeping around the door.
“A-are you busy? It’s fine if you’re busy - I can come back later, another day even,” he offered, almost in the tone of one hoping that he would be told that that would, in fact, be preferable.
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Tarquin Fox-Reynolds
Outside my comfort zone (tag: Headmaster Bulla)
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Manfred Bulla
February 20, 2009 6:03 PM
Ah, if it isn't our very own Librarian! by Manfred Bulla
Manfred had just about finished his paperwork for the day. He paused mid-sentence to let his gaze drift towards the open window. It was an ideal afternoon outside, or so it seemed to him. A blue sky that stretched as far as he could see, and - he felt assured - further yet. The smell of the greenery from the Labyrinth Gardens drifted in; a familiar scent, and a comforting one after all his years here. Underneath it there was the dry and dusty hint of the desert. They combined to make a smell that Manfred identified as home.The school had been his home for more than half his life after all.
Turning back to his paperwork, he carefully scribed his way through to finish the work and then added the parchment to its respective pile before climbing to his feet. He tilted his head to one side and then the other, lifting his arms to stretch the kinks out. Taking the few steps to the window he leaned on the sill and looked out over the school grounds.
There was something going on in the Gardens. Shrieks echoed out, and there were at least three or four students running around - undoubtedly up to something. Manfred smiled, ever so slightly. It was good to see the students enjoying themselves. His smile was replaced by a wince as a particularly piercing shriek rent through the air. Perhaps if they enjoyed themselves a little more quietly...
There was a knock at the door, and Manfred turned.
"Come in," he said, moving back towards his desk, but standing behind the chair with his hands resting on top of the back rather than sitting. He looked at the door expectantly, until Tarquin's head managed to make it around the door.
"No," he said in reply. "Not busy at all, actually. Just finished up my work for the day." It didn't happen every day that he was finished so early, but it did happen on occasion. "Take a seat," he gestured to the chair across the desk and moved around his own chair to sit down. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
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Manfred Bulla
Ah, if it isn't our very own Librarian!
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Tarquin
March 11, 2009 4:27 PM
And outside the library! Most irregular... by Tarquin
Hm. Not busy. Well, that was probably a good thing, given how long it had taken Taquin to build up the courage to come here – goodness alone knew how long it would have taken him to convince himself to return, had he been turned away. However, the way his shoulders slumped as he exhaled rather heavily seemed to suggest that he was disappointed by the response.“Thank you,” he said, timid politeness being such a natural reflex for him that, however caught up he was in feeling awkward it would never be overlooked. He perched himself delicately and carefully on the chair, as if trying very hard not to be overtly present. When the headmaster asked what he had wanted, his contemplative, quizzical frown, directed at his own fidgeting hands, seemed to suggest that the question had caught him off guard and was something which required him to have a good, thorough think before he could possibly postulate an answer. Of course the problem was not what he wanted but, as ever, how to phrase.
“I wanted,” he informed his own hands, a little haltingly, stating each word very carefully, as though they required his very hardest concentration to make them intelligible, “to discuss with you,” ...library budget! ...noisy students. ...the late delivery of a shipment of Charms textbooks! screamed his brain, frantically egging him on to bail out at the last minute, “...leave entitlement,” he said, something in his articulation reminiscent of a child sounding the unfamiliar words from a new, difficult book. “Paternity... Well, adoption, really, technically I suppose,” he said, his words stringing together fluidly for the first time. In fact, becoming so liquid that they somewhat ran away. Slowing back down, he continued to address his lap, his thumb drumming against his leg to the beat of the syllables he spoke. “It's nothing final or definite at the moment. We're just starting to look into it.”
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And outside the library! Most irregular...
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