Scotch on the Rocks. [Sean]

[Willow Kovacs]

It wasn't particularly often that the dark haired woman went out on a Friday night, but this specific evening was different. She had been invited out - an even rarer event. The early summer air kissed her cheeks with moisture as she walked down the sidewalk, moving to the side occasionally to avoid contact with the other patrons out and about in the humid evening. A small, blissful smile was just barely etched on her plum coloured lips, the warmer season always bringing out a less hostile side of the lizard, as the cold blooded creature obviously preferred humidity. She swung a dark bag slightly as she strutted down the street, the sun still peaking lightly over the mountain tops and trees in the not-so-distant distance.

Street lights had begun to flutter on, flooding the streets with an orange-y light that devoured the people in its radiant colour. There was a light buzz of the cicadas that hovered in the forest, awake again this year to mate, and doubtlessly fall back into their seven year slumber. Gnats attacked the light leeching from restaurant windows and street lamps, joining the brown spotted moths that fed on the brightness. Willow glanced around, appreciating the simple serenity of the summer evening. The humidity that hung in the air heavily shun on her skin brilliantly, she inhaled the scent of cigarettes and food that hung in the air around the busy section of town.

If one was to watch the woman carefully as she walked in black wedge shoes, adding just a bit of height to already long frame, that she limped ever so slightly. Hidden beneath her white Bermuda shorts were bandages over the wounds that had not yet fully healed from their battle weeks ago. She had been disgruntled at the hospital's refusal to release her, and is still not fond of the memories of her injuries, but she is fine with blatantly ignoring them. There was a long, still slightly red, scar across her upper right arm, and the colourful scarf she wore covered the slice along her neck - that one bothered her the most.

Turning into the corner, the neon printed sign of one of her favourite bars came into view, and she slipped inside the door when a man held it for her. The building on the inside smelled of smoke and spices. Her smile widened ever so slightly. Sitting at the bar, she crossed her legs, gently touching her hair as she waited for her companion, and for the bartender to bring her a drink.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Contrary to popular opinion at the school, Sean didn’t indiscriminately like everyone. He did, however, like Willow Kovacs, a fact that had appeared to astound the young woman as much as it might astound the students she recruited over the years and several of their coworkers. Despite her reputation as a scary dragon lady, Sean was fond of her; she had a good soul in his opinion, she was dedicated to the children, and she was excellent at her job. He also remembered her from her time as a student which also gave him a soft spot for her.

Going out on a Friday night was a common enough occurrence in the telepath’s life, particularly since he had no unresolved anxiety about being out alone. In fact, there were times when he preferred to be out alone in a bar. This week was not one of those times. He wanted the companionship, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to sit down with Willow in a long time, which was what had prompted him to ask in the first place. He’d let her choose the bar, and he promised to meet her after work.

Unfortunately, he was running slightly late. A last minute incident where Vincent Verax had been hauled into his office held him up; he should have expected it, if only because he had plans and Vincent hadn’t been on report for an unprecedented length of time. Still, it had held him up, and he’d had to rush home, change out of his work clothes into something more relaxed – with the spring he could switch to a leather jacket and more comfortable slacks, and it freed him from wearing a tie – and then had to meet Willow at the bar.

He didn’t speed. He only did that in emergencies, and since he now had to worry about being pulled over for minor traffic infractions, he had no desire to invite trouble on a Friday night. Thus he remained right at the speed limit as he drove from his house down to the bar that Willow had picked. No accidents, no encounters with the police, nobody cutting him off and flipping him the bird. Precisely what he needed.

When he entered the bar, he let his mind wander to find where she was; it was easier than looking around, at least as far as he was concerned. Unsurprisingly, she had settled right at the bar, and he made his way over. Sliding onto a stool beside her, he smiled and remarked, “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I was held up: Verax.” That would, either fortunately or unfortunately, explain everything.

[Willow Kovacs]

Voices cascaded around the room, ricocheting off the walls to create a contrast to the indistinguishable music playing in the background of conversation. Every few moments, she would pick up on a new conversation, her mind sorting through the sounds to focus on a single set of words. She would blink, and zone again, the conversation falling back into the steady murmur only occasionally broken by the loud, heart laughter of a patron or two. She was poised on the stool, her legs crossed, back curved as her arms laid crossed on the bar. Her dark eyes followed the bartenders as they moved about busily, mixing, her analytical mind memorising the contents, the measurements, halfway wondering how these mixed drinks would taste.

She could feel Sean's presence even before he sat; perhaps it was the lizard in her, or maybe just a distinct aura that surrounded the man she had known for the majority of her life. She offered him a twitch of her lips, still the cool and mostly neutral expression remained though. Sean was one of the few people that she found it particularly easy to appear relaxed around. "Good evening," She said with a slight raising of her eyebrows as he situated himself on the stool. Willow made a face at the mention of Vincent Verax. He was notorious on campus for being a simpleton and causing general chaos. It was not uncommon for him to end up in Sean's office, under siege for some bizarre act that he decided was a good idea. "Well, then, I forgive you." She said, another twitch of her plum painted lips and she turned to the bartender that had trailed up with a welcoming grin.

"Scotch. On the rocks, please," The reptile's tastes did not include the love for overly sweet drinks that diluted the taste of alcohol. She had always sort of thought that those frilly drinks were for immature and unpracticed college girls on vacation who couldn't hold their alcohol if their lives depended on it. A slight huff of air left her nose in a sort of amused snort as she thought of it. "How are you this find evening, Dr. Neville?" She asked with a tone she usually did not utilise, leaning against the bar again, cradling her head in her hand as she looked at him.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath was hardly surprised by Willow’s response to Vincent’s name; most of the faculty had that reaction. Not only his teachers, but also the administrative staff generally, and Sean had to imagine the security team as well, given how many of the young man’s antics they were called in to repair. Recruiters, due to the nature of their jobs, spent less time than the rest of them on school grounds and were also less likely to have to deal with Vincent directly; that was a definite job perk. Except for the recruiter who had brought him in the first place, those years ago, who undoubtedly regretted that now. “I’m glad to be forgiven,” the telepath said with a smile, one that was larger than hers because he wore them more naturally.

The psychiatrist smiled when Willow placed her drink order, and he turned to the bartender and added, “Make that two, please.” Scotch was one of his drinks of choice, particularly when he was out at a bar. Wine was a supper drink, beer was for sporting events, and he only took mixed drinks when he had a specific need to spread out his alcohol intake and remain relatively sober. He and Willow had the entire night ahead of them, and he fully intended to enjoy himself. Besides, she was a woman after his own heart with her drink choice.

Once the drinks had been ordered, he turned back around since the bar was crowded, and it would take a few minutes for their drinks to be prepared. When she asked the question, he raised his hand in a gesture to communicate you know how it is. “I was doing splendidly until late this afternoon; then I had a bit of a headache while putting Verax on grounds keeping duty for the next two weeks. It’s clearing up now.” That was fairly typical. “And how are you this evening? And please, call me Sean.” She didn’t have to be formal for his sake.

[Willow Kovacs]

A small smile was etching itself onto her regularly cold and passive features. It wasn't something the raven often exhibited, but it could be brought out by a certain type of person. Sean had been someone Willow looked up to since her days as a student at Hammel. She remembered him in an appreciative manner - wise and even a bit stoic. She had been in his office once or twice, always by a fellow classmates complaint of her conceited attitude mistaken for "bullying." She had never viewed herself as a bully, but thinking back on how she acted toward her classmates, she could see how that mistake was made. Dr. Neville had always appeared patient and understanding, and she valued his opinion for those factors. As the bartender turned away, she glanced at the doctor with slitted eyes. "Great minds thing alike? Or.. perhaps great tastes are similar, yes?"

Readjusting herself on the stool, she cradled her cheek in her palm as she listened to him, watching as his facial expressions changed throughout his sentence. "Do I even want to know what bizarre thing he's done this time?" She asked with an equally exasperated tone. There were few students at the school that didn't cause her frustration. They were fumbling and awkward and typically self-centered. She had but a few soft spots for specific students, one recently discovered to being toward Nikolai, the adopted of her boss. She blinked as the thought came to mind, and tilted her head slightly sideways, as if to make it fall out of her ear.

The bartender returned, setting the two drinks on the table and scurried off again to tend to the other patrons in the busy bar. Picking up the glass, she studied the liquid that sloshed inside of it and spoke to the man beside her, "Did you know that I despise addressing people by any sort of nickname?" She mused, taking a sip of the aged liquid, savouring the burn as the alcohol trickled down her throat. The ice clinked within the glass. Willow glanced at him, the slight pull of her plum lips dispersing any sort of tension the statement may have caused. "I always feel as though I'm missing the meaning behind it. Like a story of where that name may have originated. And I rarely address superiors informally, but thank you, Sean."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

His smile widened at the comment, and he nodded in agreement while meeting her eyes. “I would say so, yes. There isn’t anything quite like scotch on a Friday night.” This was one aspect of working at Hammel that other schools didn't have: the transformation of former students into colleagues and then the enjoyment of their company outside of school.

The telepath settled beside her at the bar and replied to her question with a shake of his head. Vincent Verax had a way of thinning the patience of everyone at Hammel, a habit that Sean knew wasn’t entirely intentional. The boy was so self-centered, provocative, easily manipulated, and dim. Two of those were dangerous; all four together were Vincent Verax and the resulting chaos. “Suffice it to say it was for a bet, the money has been confiscated, he’s grounded, and we’re all lucky that the building is still standing.” Unfortunately for everyone involved, this wasn’t an exaggeration; Sean was long past the point of exaggerating incidents with the students. Being the de facto disciplinarian had forced him to expand his patience and thicken his skin a bit, and by now he’d seen it all. Not that the children didn’t try to push his buttons.

When the drinks arrived, the telepath turned to give the bartender a quick word of thanks, before picking up his glass. The scotch didn’t look watered down, not with its rich color. He would confirm that with a taste test. Politely, he waited for her to take her first sip, before taking his own; no, this wasn’t watered down at all; he would remember to come here again, as strong drinks and a non-violent atmosphere were his only requirements for a watering hole. He looked over at her when she made her comment. “I didn’t know that as a fact, although I’ve noticed that you aren’t big on nicknames.” He also wasn’t surprised, given her typically no-nonsense attitude. Smiling a bit, he added, “And you needn’t think of me as a superior; my age aside, I’m not even in your department.” With that, he took another sip of the scotch, already decided that he would order another.

[Willow Kovacs]

A huff of air left the woman's painted lips, which could be interpreted as a sort of laugh. She very rarely laughed openly, if at all, really. Her amusement only standing in the pull of her painted lips to a small quirk of a smile, something that gave her a significantly less hostile appearance. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time a building at the Institute has been," She searched for the correct word, "altered." It was true, throughout her years at the school, both studying and being a member of the staff, she had seen buildings caught aflame, flooded, demolished, and even turned strange colours. It would suffice to say that the students she worked with and the people she was surrounded by succeeded in making everyday life entertaining.

Her words were chased by another sip of scotch, her alcohol tolerance above average for someone with so little body fat. Alcohol was her exception; her being a health freak, she didn't engage in unhealthy practices such as smoking (though she did smoke at a hookah bar in India once) or illegal drugs. In fact, she didn't even eat meat, or any other sort of animal product. She exercised daily and was in a constant state of mind to keep her body in top condition. Which was why she felt slightly uncomfortable at the moment, knowing with the injuries that were still not fully healed that she wouldn't be as capable in an emergency situation as she would have been say, a few weeks ago. Making a face, she fiddled with the glass momentarily, running her fingers around the rim, before turning her attention back to her companion.

She shook her head at his comment, "Ah, but in a sense, because of age, you are my superior. And one is always good to treat an elder with respect." Her voice was plucky with lightheartedness. "Morals I wish some of our more... overzealous students would partake in." The raven mused, thinking of some of her more difficult recruits. "Though I suppose they exceed expectations. Eventually." The self proclaimed "Idiot Brigade" had yet to do so for the recruiter, but she still had a glimmer of hope they'd actually turn into outstanding individuals one day. Leaning her elbows on the bar ever so slightly, she tilted her head when she looked at Sean, "You've been at Hammel far longer than I - what's been your favourite part of the school.. There has to be a reason for staying so long."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath conceded that with a nod, since she was quite correct. Between the weather manipulators, the hydrokinetics, the pyrokinetics, the aerokinetics, the terrakinetics, the students with superhuman strength, students like L.C., students who could manipulate acid, the students who could manipulate energy and electricity, the gravity manipulators...truth told, that the buildings remained standing every day was nothing short of incredible. While Sean acknowledged that, it didn’t mean that he was amused by Vincent’s antics which only contributed to the decay of the buildings. “You’re right, of course, but you know how Verax is. If we didn’t address his behavior until after the weekend, he would try it three times more by Monday morning.” That was always the risk with Vincent Verax; although he had a short attention span, if he had an idea, he usually saw it through, and repeated it unless there was intervention.

The psychiatrist then swirled his scotch around in his glass for a moment, before he took another sip of the amber liquid. It was strong, cool to his tongue, and craved on a Friday night out. Drinking was a hobby of his, although he practiced moderation on all but the most comfortable of circumstances, and fortunately, he had a high alcohol tolerance. He leaned against the bar, glancing briefly at his scotch as he overheard her thought. That entire disaster, although necessary, remained a source of guilt and reflection. The telepath wished that he had been able to do a better job protecting the staff, even though they had been able, as a group, to protect the students through their conduct. He didn’t remark on it; that was his burden to bear alone for getting them all involved in the first place.

Sean chuckled as she gave voice to a thought that so many of the faculty and staff had had about some of the students over the years, and she did so politely. “I hold out faith that most of them will mature enough to gain them in the next few years. We can only hope.” The telepath then smiled at the question, because it was expected in one sense, and in another, he never had a single, proper response. He took another sip before looking up at her and replying, “I believe in what Hammel does, which is why I started working here all those years ago. I like helping others, and I like the faculty and the students. I don’t know if I have a favorite part per se, but I’ve seen so many students grow into capable adults.” He took another sip of his scotch and turned up one hand to emphasize what he said. “Seeing that, assisting with that, is unlike anything else I could do.”