well, shit.

Irma was distracted with looking over the papers on the corkboard in the hallway just outside her office. Glancing over her shoulder only long enough to see someone was there, she motioned for them to head toward her office where her door was wide open. “If you have a minute, I’d like to talk. There’s a fresh pot of tea just on the table if you’d like some. I’ll be in in just ten seconds.”

Lennon squints at Vogel in his usual resignation of ‘oh, it’s you again’ with a small sigh. It’s a force of habit at this point which trumps the fact that he actually has a business to settle with her. “Um, what did I do this time?” he looks at her incredulously at her demand for a talk. In God’s honest truth, he has been behaving, not that he gives her any credit of it. He adjusted, he supposes, slowly but gradually. And punching people isn’t just as fun without alcohol in your system. “I’ve just got something for you.” He shoves a paper bag, inside of which is a mug. “You’ve left yours at my place but I’ve grown kinda fond of them, so here’s another. Now we’re even,” explains him.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine.”

“Fine.” He shoves his hands into the pockets, shrugs, jerks his head to the general direction. “Go on. I ain’t got all day.” 

“Do you know what you should try? The dunk tank.”

Squint intensifies. “I would, if you try first.”

“Oh, yes, I love the festival. It’s a wonderful stress reliever. Are you enjoying yourself? How did you like the costume party?”

Lennon opts not to answer that, simply squinting at her with clear disgruntlement. 

“Let’s go, let’s go, slowpoke! There’s a lotta free beer and a little time left in the day to drink it all!”

“Yeah... No.” He deadpans, saying no because 1) he doesn’t want to drink with Thayer a.k.a. ‘how and why the fuck this idiot hasn’t gotten himself killed yet’ and 2) he is still holding onto his sobriety, 3) he likes saying no to people.

Some of the students here were really quite stupid. It was painfully obvious she was dressed up as Artemis, and yet here people were asking if she was some sort of cupid. One person had already gotten an arrow in the foot for it, and she was itching to dole out some more of her twisted punishments. The arrows were all practice arrows, though, so at least she wouldn’t kill anyone. They slid out just as easy as they went in and were relatively easy wounds to heal. She figured she might be overstepping boundaries if she brought out the particularly nasty ones. With a purpose, she made her way to the refreshments only to be stopped about halfway there with someone in her way. Her initial instinct was to raise the bow, already with an arrow notched, and gesture for them to move. “My patience is thin. Move or get shot. Please.” She tacked on a please at the end, but anyone could see she wasn’t actually trying to be polite.

Lennon can barely stand a regular party. He has no shit left in his bone to give about a costume party-- and somehow he is in one. Fuck you, Irma Vogel. Fuck you very much. Thankfully, he attends as a chaperon so he dodged the bullet of wearing some stupid costume. It still doesn’t stop him from getting annoyed by the kids constantly asking what is he supposed to be. With the bitchy migraine, he goes over to the beverage, to get himself a cup of water so that he can pop in few aspirins. Then someone threats him with a bow and arrow, which is laughable. “I’d like to see you try, cupid.” He scoffs. 

confessions meme:

She narrowed her eyes at him even more. “Never think of me as naive,” she snapped at him quickly. “You forget how many decades I have on you and the time I grew up in.” 

“Whacha gonna do, mind control me?” He says almost daringly. Maybe her comment stung more than he would like to admit. “I didn’t forget. I’m calling you naive in spite of it.”

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Irma didn’t fully believe that he wasn’t capable of being a teacher, even if he proved time and time again why and how his words were true. She’d talked to some students in his classes, and she knew that he wasn’t nearly as beloved as certain professors, but at least he wasn’t hated as much as Howe. “I call it cowardly.”

“And I call you naive and a martyr” he retorts with a shrug. It would be a big mistake, quite arrogant one, if she believes that she can actually change his view. “You have your flaws and I’ve got mine. Let’s just leave it at that.”