|Scene Title||Boys and Birds|
|Synopsis||Jethro stumbles on to a new professor. He hasn't been introduced yet, so jumps to the wrong conclusion. Rene helps straighten him out. Conall exacerbates things a bit.|
|Location||Hogwarts: Defense Classroom|
|Date||Oct 18, 1995|
|Watch For||Jethro's hypocrisy, Rene's noisy bird. Coffee.|
Early Wednesday morning - breakfast should almost be over by now - finds Siobhan sitting on top of her desk, legs crossed tailor-style and palms resting on her thighs. Her eyes are closed and her expression is peaceful - though the skinny-jeans, converse and lacy pink camisole she has on add an element of 'teenager' to the image. Her hunter green robes for the day are slung over the back of her chair. The first moments are spent in cleaning out the spaces of her mind and re-organizing them into an organic sort of harmony. Once accomplished, this leaves her feeling actually ready to take on the day. In this space, she is almost meditative, in tune with herself in a way she couldn't have been before the painting incident. Experimenting - since she is alone - she finds the place deep at the base of her skull where she feels her spells pulling from and tugs at it. It takes lots of little tugs, but eventually she can feel a strand of it pulling loose. It's warm and familiar and just feels nice. What she doesn't realize is that magic - once tugged on - needs a place to go. Being that the course it's always taken is down her arm into her wand, that's the course it follows, leaving a swirling smoke of gently glowing white-golden magic playing around the tips of her fingers. Probably not the most normal thing to walk in on. Oops.
Jethro is patrolling the halls, having finally organized the ill-trained bunch of goobers who call themselves Aurors into some semblance of a decent patrol. He stops at the door to the Defense classroom, peeking in to make sure no one is messing around in the new professor's room before she gets there. He's heard that the new professor is some kid of one of the muckety-mucks at the ministry, and has strong opinions about what he'll find. None of those strong opinions include a young, good looking woman working on wandless magic sitting on her desk. So, when he spots the woman — no, the kid — sitting on the teacher's desk, he frowns, stalks in with a near silent stride and aims his wand right between her eyes.
"What's your name, kid? You got permission to be sittin' on the teacher's desk?" He glances around, most of his attention still focused on the 'kid'. "Where's the teacher? Class startin' in a few, ougtta be here preppin' insteada wanderin' around the halls." He taps his toe in impatience, waiting for a response.
What's normal in Hogwarts, though? Moving staircases, living paintings, spells awry, the usual. The muck and mess of breakfast is falling apart, and some students are meandering towards classes as it is, or perhaps to the common rooms, as the outside is slick with a cold autumn rain, rather than a brisk, breezy day. Some students of course, receive the morning post at breakfast. Rene is little different, save for the fact that several first years at the Slytherin table had augurey all over their place settings, rather than eggs and ham. Madoc making a sound like a low-bearing train wasn't helping either, the rain outside lending him a semi-permanent mournful call as he crashed between eagle owls and barn owls, flopping onto his master's son with a package in his sickle-shaped beak.
It was really all that Rene could do, was promptly leave, with the large, heavy bird shyly coursing at his heels. Over the low thrum of sound coming from the dog-sized augurey, Rene's trek towards the Owlery- where else would he be able to take him?- is disrupted in a minor way when he glimpses someone darting into the Defence classroom.
He follows, albeit slowly, and at a fair distance, only peering into the open door when he hears the male voice. Madoc has no such compunctions about keeping silent, however, and Rene's presence as an eavesdropper is betrayed by the bird letting out a soft, forlorn cooing behind his back.
With as deep in her own head and her own core as Siobhan is, she doesn't hear Jethro's approach. An unfamiliar voice coming from so close, however, startles her enough that her eyes fly open. For a single, terrifying moment, those eyes are golden. An unknown American man with his wand between her eyes - and calling her a kid, no less - is enough to kick every single defensive instinct she has into overdrive. Especially with her current personal space issues. Snarling viciously, she feels something white-hot and massive flaring to life in her chest and pushes hard without ever consciously realizing what it is she's doing. The golden smoke that had been curling lazily around her fingertips coalesces into a heavy weight so that when she thrusts her hand out to shove hard at his chest, it is augmented with the force of that raw power, a weight attaching itself to Jethro's chest that doesn't want to leave. Her other hand is used to push her body up and into the crouch of a wild thing there on the floor in front of her desk.
Only then does she look up and see the familiar shape of Madoc, accompanied by the familiar face of Rene. It's that familiarity that cools and calms the frightened wildness inside of her and her - reassuringly dull brown - eyes widen in horror. With that relization, that horror, whatever instinct was powering that spell melts away and suddenly the weight on Jethro's chest dissipates entirely. "Um." Siobhan looks between Rene and the American, feeling so not like a professor or even an adult at this moment. But then righteous indignation takes over as her scattered mind pieces together what the hell just happened. "And just who the bloody hell do you think you are?"
Jethro is pushed over, flat on his ass. He gazes up at her, narrowly avoiding whacking his head on the desk directly behind him. "Dammit!" He barks the curse out, keeping his wand pointed in her direction. The weird sound behind him draws his attention away for a long moment. He assesses, notes the kid, and returns his focus to the threat in front of him. "Gardener." He just offers his last name, clarifying for her. "Took Smythe's place. Kid was sick or some crap like that. Never answerd my question, though. Who the hell are you? You supposed t' be sittin' on the teacher's desk?" He lifts his eyebrows, glaring intently at the woman. "Where'd ya learn t' punch like that?" Even with magic, it's still a punch to him. "Gonna leave a bruise."
He finally turns his attention to the kid outside the door. "Hey, kid. Nice bird." Yeah. He eases himself up to a stand again, more aware of the woman's presence and her — range, so to speak. He won't get caught a second time. "You know who this is?" Jethro's habit is to find answers any way he can, and kids are usually pretty helpful. "She okay to be in here?"
Rene's brows shoot up, already fine shapes growing a bit paler on his head. He watches, fascinated and startled at the same time. It wouldn't be as if he could do much, though, even if he'd been set upon it. The instance seems to run its course, and somehow he thinks it is the bird's fault for making the racket. He's used to the sound of the augurey. Still, his hand finds the creature's back when Siobhan moves on the older man, and Madoc's feathers rise up on his skin, inflating a thirty pound bird a few inches larger. He sits like some brackish colored hound at Rene's heels, only ambling after when the boy takes it upon himself to simply traipse inside the classroom, bold as brass.
"She is the professor. She may sit on her desk insofar as she does not wear her skirt too short when she does." Rene finds a few words aptly enough, bright blue eyes inspecting the Auror(?) with incredibly teenage scrutiny. Madoc trails behind, head tucked down and shoulders hunched, feathers still fluffed. Rene is not much taller than Madoc is long, and it may prove somewhat comical.
"I have five brothers," Siobhan answers dryly, some of her composure returning now that the obvious danger has passed. It doesn't properly answer his question and she knows that it doesn't, but she breezes right on past that fact and moves along. Rene, though his comment is a welcome help, gets a sharp look for his attempt at wit. "And just what do you know about the length of my skirts, Rene?" Her tone is light, but even a snake so young will recognize easily the warning in it. She is, after all, wearing jeans today. "And as for you, Mister Gardener, you oughta know better than to sneak up and startle someone with your wand in their face." She folds her arms over her chest and - though neither male will appreciate the true scariness of this fact - adopts a pose every single Noble male knows by heart; Mum's. "You do that to the wrong person in this school and you'll end up dead faster than you can fall on your arse." Rene's Head of House springs to mind. As does the Headmaster.
Conall is not amused by having been assigned the day shift, but being the professional that he is the glower is kept to a dark minimum with a glare flung the way of a student late for class that almost bowls into him. "Eejit," Goshite taunts from the air above. The sound of a commotion coming from the Defence Of The Dark Arts classroom isn't unusual given the nature of lessons carried out in that room. However it having been one of his favourite classes during his time at Hogwarts, the Irish Auror's steps slow and then halt putting him square in the doorway. When the tableau being played out registers rather than immediately go on the defensive, he simply leans up against the doorframe with arms folded across his chest. The picture of nonchalance dark eyes sweep across the area taking in every aspect of the scene and its participants. Rene is noted as is Sio before his gaze skips onto the older Auror lingers and then swings back to the blond perched in front the desk.
"Need some help boss?" he drawls with a light smirk attached. Jethro isn't his boss as such but given his seniority he'll grudgingly hand the man the respect that is due.
Jethro reacts automatically to the title. "Nah, think I've got it under control. Lettin' 'em teach younger and younger." He lowers his wand, running his free hand through his hair. "Powerful enough for it, though" He admits graciously. "Reminds me a bit of my DOM contact back home. Punches me on a regular basis." He rubs his arm and winces, recalling the pain, then grins over at the teacher. "Don't normally stick my wand in anybody's eyes, Professor," he notes dryly. "But when I don't know who you are…" He shrugs, unapologetic over his actions. "Time's taught me not t' mess around with the unknown."
He flashes his grin back toward the Irishman again. "Damn bird's got a mouth." Irony? Present. "Wonder where he picked it up." He shakes his head, then offers his hand to Siobhan, either to shake or to pull herself up. "Jethro Gardener." Yes, Jethro. His smile turns a little self-deprecating. "Special Agent with the Magical Bureau of Investigation, though I guess now they call me an Auror." His expression tightens at the term, showing his distaste.
Rene all but inhales his lips, pressing his mouth together before biting down on the lower one. "Absolutely nothing, Professor." His father's augurey belts out an abrupt moan, almost like a cat in pain. There's nothing wrong with him- that's just one of those noises- and the sound goes back to its low thrumming soon enough. "Madoc, hush." Rene puts his palm on the back of the bird's neck, fingers scratching into the soft skin behind the ears. The feathers along his back lie flat again, and he sidles up against the Slytherin boy's robes, tucking his beak around the front to see if there are treats in any of Rene's pockets.
"Between negligence and having a twitchy wand, I am not sure which is better." Rene muses, glancing between the adults again, his hand remaining on the crooked piebald neck of Madoc.
Siobhan breezes right past any mention of how powerful she is or isn't, relaxing enough to grasp his hand in a firm shake, but no further. "You probably deserve it." Given his unapologetic response to her admonition, her response could be taken as insult, but the tone is far too light for that. Almost playful, even. "Siobhan Noble, I've been brought on to try and make sure these kids know how to not die when they leave school." And though it's been a tough transition, her enjoyment of the job - and her surprise at that enjoyment - are both readily evident in her tone. So used to communicating with people like Snape and the Headmaster - where every single nuace of conversation changes entire meanings - she easily picks up on the tightening of his face and grins a little bit wider; her easy manner a little more genuine. "Pleasure to meet you, Special Agent Gardener." She'll remember that, then.
Siobhan remembers Madoc and turns to grab her wand off the desk and flicks it up towards her office stairway with a muttered spell. A small packet flies into her hand and she lobs it gently towards Rene. "Muggle jerky. See if he likes it." Merlin knows she hasn't been able to get enough of the stuff lately. But then there's a bird. And it cusses. … Siobhan is in love. Well, she is until she turns to look at the man she presumes is his owner. Then - at least judging by the openly admiring gaze she trails from his eyes down - she is in lust. So she does something she hasn't done in … a very long time. "Come to rescue the old timer?" She flirts. This Auror she's seen - and stared at - around the castle in the last few days. He's no threat - at least not to her.
As Jethro and Sio introduce themselves, so Conall prowls a few steps further into the classroom an unapologetic grin at the ready for the parrot's colourful command of the English language, "Was like that when I got him." Yeah right and he's actually a troll in disguise. The distaste that the older man displays for now bearing the title of Auror as opposed to Special Agent slides the easygoing demeanour right off of Conall, "A little too provincial for you, America?" A snort punctuates the query before his next is put to Rene as he saunters past, "She any good?" Though his tone and the track of dark eyes that flirts over the blonde professor might suggest he's not asking after her teaching skills. Ahem. "Does he need rescuing?" that to Sio with a glance flickered sidelong to Jethro. He may have just discovered his new favourite pastime - yanking Jethro's chain.
"Not so much provincial, Irish, as back-ass-wards." Jethro gives as good as he gets. He grins down at the kid and the big bird. "He's as big as you are, huh?" He crouches down a little to meet Rene eye to eye, more at ease now that he knows the situation. "You comin' to class?" If not, where is he supposed to be? The censure is quiet, but it's present. After looking at the boy and his bird for a long moment, he stands up again, moving closer to Conall. Taunting the wolf has its consequences. He whacks Conall on the back of the head. It's not rough enough to cause damage, but it will shock him a bit. "Lady present." That's all he'll say before returning his attention to Siobhan. "Nice t' meet ya, Siobhan." He grins a bright smile at her. It's not — flirting exactly. More like standard reaction to ladies from a very chauvanistic man. "Don't need rescuin'. Just fine." This just earns Conall a glare.
Rene catches the packet tossed his way, and he barely has a moment until Madoc is eyeballing it, despite having no idea what is inside of it. Maybe he does- the faintness of spiced meat isn't totally lost on him. Usual diet being insects, fae-creatures, and things that crunch, treats consist of- well- anything else. Being raised by humans doesn't help, in fact it has right spoiled him. Rene watches the adults for a moment longer now, pursing his lips again when he catches the look that she gives the younger auror. Well, then.
Rene resigns to opening the pack of jerky, dislodging a chunk to toss at Madoc's flat, taloned feet. He stoops to pick it up with his beak, tongue licking at it from that point. Close enough. He lifts his brows up when Conall speaks to him, and the younger auror gets a faintly dubious look from the Second yearling, who is readily distracted by the older Auror looking him in the eye. Naturally, he takes a half-step back, a smile lurking below the surface. Rene lifts a hand to his forehead when Conall makes an inquiry of him, kneading a few fingers over his brow. "Pourquoi devrais-je savoir?" He drawls heavily. "You- you figure it out for yourself."
"I was taking my father's bird to the owlery." For Jethro, as per what he was doing- not coming to class, no. "Morning classes will start soon enough."
"She happens to be standing right here." Any one of the men in the room who'd met Snape - so probably just Rene, joy for him - would immediately recognize the low, dry, slow drawl with which Siobhan says this. She opens her mouth to tell him off for being lewd around her student, but Rene's response cuts her off and she turns her sharp cinnamon gaze on him, instead. "No French in my classroom, Rene, or I'll make you a ginger for a week." Siobhan: Nice, sweet, friendly snake … who just so happens to have a really good idea of just which buttons to push. "If he doesn't, I do." Oh, yes. Siobhan is a terrible flirt when it comes to pretty boys. Always did have a weakness. She does, however, beam at being referred to as a lady, the smile turning from sweet to wicked at the smack to the back of the head. "Special Agent Gardener, I do believe I like you." It's not quite flirting, either, but the sort of half-playful teasing she uses with her own cursebreaker brother.
Dark eyes narrow a tight look onto Jethro as the barb finds a home, Irish pride stung. "Life ain't all Macky D's and monster trucks," he dares to snark right back. Clearly he likes to live dangerously. Thankfully there's Rene and his augurey with the younger Auror studying the latter while the older addresses the former, another snipe of 'Nah, he's here to redecorate', ready on his tongue but wisely it gets left unspoken. The reply from Rene earns him a loooong, long look, Conall's visage devoid of expression and then he states sardonically, "Because if she's no good as an instructor you'd better be reading up on how to die well." See? He'd been referring to her skills as a DAD instructor, nothing more. Mmhm. As to the 'she' that is 'standing right there'? Conall slowly swings his attention up from Rene and onto Sio, "So she does," he drawls and then adds with a trace of flirtation, "Just checking you weren't some kind of apparition," grin.
Not having expected that slap to the back of his head Conall isn't quite quick enough to duck and the grin is knocked right off his face. "Oy! What was that for? Just wanted to know if…aw screw it," he huffs fist clenching at his side in an effort not to do what comes naturally and rub at his head. No way he's giving Jethro the satisfaction. Of course that means that Sio is now the recipient of a look for daring to be amused. The glare coming from the older man however on whether or not he needs protection is almost enough to make up for it though.
Siobhan's comment gets a bright grin from Jethro. She's reminding him more and more of his friend as the conversation goes on. "So long as you don't choke me with a hug, we're good." It's a really weird thing to say unless you know the same people he does. The young student gets a nod. "Good 'nuff. Just don't be late t' class." He gazes at the bird for another moment, then comments. "Different kinda bird. What? Augury?" He knows a little about the critters. "Speedy delivery." He's a little impressed.
"Ginger? Like the root?" Jethro is so American. Sometimes the British way of phrasing things doesn't make sense to him. "Never said it was, O'Shea." He shakes his head. "Not all chicks and hot nights, either." He glances over at the young boy, realizing he's made a bit of an error in being so blunt. "Need t' learn t' die well anyway. No such thing as 'good enough'." Jethro subscribes to the Moody theory of Defense. His only comment on the head-slap is a quick, "thought you needed it." He gazes around. "Professor, y'know where t' get a decent cup of coffee around here?"
That is a threat that Rene can not only heed, but he knows that she would do it. He claps a hand to the back of his head, fingers moving through some of his light hair, as if she may have already done it. Because one can feel orange. He allows himself to be so vain.
"Please, no, I will try. Should I warn the others? No, no, I suppose they can learn through trial. " He relays the first part of this to himself, putting his hand back down to the bird, who lets out a groan not unlike someone getting a bad cramp. "Yes. Noisy when it rains, but faithful always."
Rene nudges the bird once, pointing him back to where they had come. Madoc galumphs down the classroom aisle of his own accord, leaving Rene to give them all a curt bend of his waist before he trails after. "If you will excuse me. I must tend to something that is not watching adults doing courtship maneuvers." Bird terms, surely. They won't have time to say anything about it- as he and the vulture-bird are out the door by the time he finishes. Address that another time, perhaps.
Siobhan grins, letting a little bit of suggestion creep into the expression; not a lot - for she is a snake - but enough. She holds out both hands, palms up. "Nope, real as you are. See?" As for Jethro, she only shakes her head. "Can't promise that, mate." That sounds a little more awkward than she meant it to. "If you knew my family, you'd understand." An affectionate pride of lions, on the whole. "Warn 'em. I don't want to hear one word of it in this room. Understood?" And then absolutely out of nowhere the subject of death and dying is broached. As if a switch has been flipped, the light goes right out of Siobhan's eyes. Her posture stiffens and when she speaks again, her voice is much quieter. "I know what happens when you go up against Death Eaters with training." Something in her tone hints at first-hand experience - painful, first-hand experience - despite her young age. "I won't let them go out there without it." She nods once to Rene's departure with a simple, "Don't be late." The snakes can't afford to lose more points when they don't have to. "Coffee? Yeah, I keep a pot on in case Jack has to come up." Her brother is a bit … clingy lately. "How do you take it?" She encompasses both men in the tired question and the tight smile that goes with it, already moving around the desk to head upstairs and grab whatever's requested.
Conall snorts in response to Jethro's quip on what it's all about but doesn't deign to dignify it with a reply save for a mutter that sounds suspiciously like, "Old dog, new tricks." Hopefully the older Auror's hearing isn't sharp enough to pick that up. Either way he takes a step back out of head-slapping range and hands in pockets drops into silence images of the dead and dying flirting along the edges of consciousness, his expression hardening. There is however a long look that passes over to Sio when she speaks of having first-hand knowledge of going up against Death Eaters and one can bet he plans on getting to the bottom of that.
With the Augurey taking off down the aisle, Conall finds himself having to do a quick side-step out of it and Rene's way. Does he look sheepish or apologetic for Rene's quip on courtships and subsequent departure? No. Well, maybe a little but then he's never been very good with younglings to begin with. As such he says nothing simply tracking the small boy until he's gone from sight then his gaze swivels back to Sio and Jethro a retort on how he takes it bitten back. Clearing his throat he takes another step backward toward the door, "No can do. I'm on duty." Cue the look shot Jethro's way because the fact that he's on dayshift is very much his fault it would seem.
"Black. Strong enough t' tar roads. Thanks." Jethro shrugs, and watches the student leave, snorting his amusement at the little guy's bravery. "Kid's got guts." He grins, then turns to O'Shea. "Can even teach an old dog somethin', if ya work at it enough." He knows he's learned a thing or two since arriving here on British soil.
Siobhan's change of expression causes Jethro's eyes to narrow, lips thinning in an expression of understanding sympathy. "Not complainin' about that one bit, Noble. Chances are higher more they know." He's just a Marine through and through, and their philosophy makes up a good portion of his opinion on this. "Sounds like you got the right attitude. At least half the battle." He smiles, a half-smile that travels all the way to his blue eyes.
Sio misses both looks because her back is turned as she climbs the spiraling steps to her office. Maybe she does so on purpose. Her own experiences with the Death Eaters are something she's only ever shared with two men - one out of obligation and the other out of personal necessity - and neither of her guests are on that short list. Taking the time to prepare the coffee, she ever so slowly pieces the landscape of her mind back together. It's not as soothing or in as much harmony as it was before her scare, but it's enough that she once again has control.
"Please feel free to conjure chairs, gentlemen. I only have one class this morning and it isn't for an hour." Which would be why there are three mugs on the tray she carries down the stairs, not two. Setting it on her desk, she lets herself flop down into her own not-so-comfortable seat and takes the mug that looks like … well, milky flavored-water, to be blunt. Conall gets a look and she gestures to the two black-as-sin coffees. "Drink. It's not booze and I know your bosses." There's just a twitch of her mouth at that statement, perhaps recalling the two senior Aurors of her personal acquaintance. "If they bitch and moan about it, tell 'em it was me." The implication is that they'll understand just how well she takes no for an answer.
"He's gonna need it," Conall comments quietly on the heels of Jethro's observation of Rene. There is however no apology for the fact that Jethro had heard the 'old dog' quip just a smirk and an added margin of respect for the older man. Dark eyes follow Siobhan up the spiral staircase and he lingers a moment or two longer before with a nod to Jethro he heads toward the door, almost through it and gone when she returns. With is his back to the pair of them Conall turns his head over his shoulder and sets the teen teacher with a long closed look. "No one makes excuses for me," he finally says not prepared to have a slip of a girl trying to curry favour for him with his superiors. "G'day, miss," for he'd not gotten her name and then he's gone with Gobshite lingering just long enough to utter a scratchy, "Conall, dumbass."
"Gotta patrol," Jethro says, ruefully. "But I'll drink the coffee first." He stays in place, reaching out to grab the cup of warm liquid with a happy sigh. He inhales, allowing the smell of the drink to fill up his sinuses before he takes a long sip. "Good coffee." Now he'll know who to bother when he's working here at the school. "Later, O'Shea. Keep on your route." It's barked at the other man's retreating form, with a soft snort for the bird's comments. "That way when he got him, my ass." He shakes his head. "Bird might be right." He chuckles softly, slowly enjoying his coffee before he heads out to finish his patrol. "You like teachin'?" He'll ask the teacher a question, mainly to be polite, but he does want to know. It makes a difference.
"Thanks," Sio replies easily, grinning over at Jethro with the same easy grin she always used to have with Jack. But that was Before. She gets the same kinda 'sense' off of Jethro as her brother, though, and it makes it so easy to slip into habits she hasn't even realized she's missed. The question doesn't catch her as off-guard as it could have - it being polite conversation and all - but she does take her time replying. "I do, actually." It's an honest and considered answer. Her most recent conversational partners have had more of an influence on her than she realizes. "I like watching the transition from 'I have no idea what the fuck you just said' to 'Oh! That makes sense!'." And no, she doesn't apologize for her language. Brown eyes flick to the now-empty doorway through which Conall had departed, but she doesn't make any further comment on his exit than a twitch of a frown. "What about you? I thought I'd seen the last of you Yanks for a while, but you just keep cropping up, don'tcha?" She smiles to soften the tease, but there's a shadow where it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Came over t' keep the trouble here. The US-DOM wants t' make sure your Dark Lord and his minions stay on this side of the pond." Jethro shrugs, offering honest answer for honest answer. He takes a long draught of his drink, and nods to her explanation. "Yeah. Did a little teachin' myself. Well, sort of. Trainin' new recruits." He doesn't specify what kind of recruits since the Marines' program isn't exactly common knowledge. It's not 'Black', but it's not advertising either. "Sometimes, it's the ones that take a long time t' get it that you remember." He drains the cup, looking over at the other one. "Mind if I…" It's kind of rude, but, hey. It's coffee.
There's something in Siobhan's face that just goes dark at Jethro's answer. Her eyes dilate to the point of blackness and her expression hardens into a fury that touches on elements of the feral response Jethro had seen earlier. The rest of what he says goes right on by for now, eclipsed by the black and snarling fury slowly rising to claw at her gut. "You were sent here," she interrupts in a low, poisonous tone. "Not to help, not to find out what would be needed to drive off this threat once and for all, but to make sure it stays here?" Feeling sick to her stomach and so angry that her hands shake when she sets her half-empty mug down on the desk, she pushes herself up out of the chair and waves a hand towards the tray in a dismissive gesture that fails to look at all casual. "Do as you please. No one will be in here for another hour and I have things to take care of." Without waiting for a reply, she storms out of the classroom. If she'd bothered to take her robes with her, they doubtless would have swirled behind her impressively. As it is, she just looks pissed.
Jethro watches the teacher leave, understanding her reaction. He grabs the other cup of coffee, draining it quickly. "Thank you, Professor, for the coffee." He calls out to her, but does not yell. In fact, he steps up to the door of her office to deliver his parting shot. "By the way, by my own definition, the easiest way t' make sure he doesn't fuck things up in America? Put a nice piece of hot lead between his eyes from five hundred yards away." He sets the cups back down, straightens his robes, and steps out of the room, feeling much better about the day.