Siuil A Run [Thornton]

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse clapped her hands against each other in a business like fashion, dusting the last crumbs of the slightly charred loaf of bread from her hands. She’d tried to do some baking, but it hadn’t turned out so well. C’est la Vie…but the Koi didn’t seem to mind the bit of black left on the loaf. She knew it wouldn’t go to waste, she just hadn’t known what to do with it immediately. It was only when she was packing up to go for the afternoon that she realized what to do with it.

Normally she wasn’t on campus much on Sundays, but she’d been doing quite a bit of work recently. The on-call nurse and doctor had both asked for help handling the sudden flu pandemic, and she’d been doing some more work with Eli (everyone had side effects!). Somewhere in it all she’d managed a lovely labor day outing with Jackeroe, but it already seemed like a lovely distant memory. The summer was quickly reaching it’s end, or so it seemed, and Clarisse decided she had to at least do something to keep it around.

Her solution?: Feed the fish her failed baking project. Armed in a wide-brimmed garden hat and a floral dress, she’d curled up in her favorite place by the pond on a beach towel she usually kept in her office. It was time to take it home to the wash anyway. She hadn’t relaxed enough to kick off her shoes, and the red patent pumps glinted in the afternoon sun. She sighed and watched the fish scramble under the surface of the water for the bits of charred sourdough bread…or what could have been sourdough if Clarisse had understood the concept of kneading dough.

She blinked when a shadow crossed her path, wondering if it was someone notable or just a passer. The shadows were getting awfully long at this time of year. Holding her hat at the back of her head, she squinted. “Can I help you?”

[John Thornton]

It had been his custom, in the few months John Thornton had had at Pilot Ridge, to talk a walk around the school grounds after church. The snow had melted and the air had grown damp and then warm without him paying much heed, or even altering his outfit. The overcoat had been left at home, but even in the heat he wore a dark grey suit and shirt. It was not a matter of appearance (well, it was to an extent), it was a matter of ‘I don’t notice the heat or cold so I’ll wear what I please,’.

Which, if you thought about it, made it entirely about appearance.

His face was fixed in it’s usual scowl, which luckily kept most of the students from approaching him, though a more pointed glare was needed for some of the more persistent. His own pupils, those unlucky enough to have him assigned as a trainer knew to give him a wide berth. There was some nickname going around the school, and while it could not as bad as The Bulldog, Thornton was quite sure it was not going to be complimentary. Surprisingly, the one student he’d made any headway with at all in developing a student teacher relationship that went beyond barked instructions was with the Milliner girl, Lyra (not L.C) who seemed to actually enjoy having a teacher who was not afraid she would impale them by accident.

The englishman was making an effort to focus on the positives instead of the negatives, and the letter buried in his desk draw had been pushed back into a neat little box in his mind. It would be dealt with when he felt it was appropriate, but not until then. He was English, after all, and could, nay, would keep his emotions in check.

Still, his scowl was perhaps a little more pronounced then usual as he began to head on his usual path past the pond, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, when he spied one of the women teachers at the school. Had yet to really befriend (read: talk to) his fellow staff despite the well meant (but somewhat annoying) encouragement of the few men he’d met at the local bar (not pub, though it still sounded odd). Still, this way he could at least claim to have made some sort of effort next time they met for a drink. Steeling his shoulders, he made his way over and had cleared his throat to say some sort of greeting when she looked up and he left out his breath in a huff.

This had been a mistake. He hadn’t really expected... well, he hadn’t really thought past the I need to make some sort of effort if I’m to work here idea really.

”Ah,” he said after an awkward moment, his brow furrowing further, looking towards the pond, ”Good afternoon.” he couldn’t remember her name, it was something foreign, french by her accent but he’d only learnt a little in Switzerland and that had long since faded from disuse. ”It looks like the pond needs cleaning,” he added, looking at the black specks over the water. ”something appears to be growing in it.” Rubbing a finger over the bridge of his somewhat beak like nose he frowned, then looked back to Miss (Mrs?Ms? Madam?) somethingheshouldremember.

Her shoes were red. That was interesting.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse was a bit taken off guard by the utter scowl painting the man’s face, so she shifted awkwardly on the towel, breaking eye contact to examine the grass. When she looked back, it hit her: she recognized him. He hadn’t been quite as scowl-y at Dr. Neville’s (though now that she thought about it, he had looked rather sour then too), but he had certainly been there. Mister… “Thorton? Is it?” She offered tentatively. She’d always been good with names, but she’d only heard his once. Hence, she left out the extra ‘n.’ Close, but no cigar as it were.

She wondered if he recalled her face at all. The fight had been so chaotic…it would be a wonder if he did. Not that she’d mind; she’d have done almost anything to put the harrowing experience right out of her mind. She still couldn’t believe the ferocity with which she’d taken on the woman in the stair well. Vaguely she shuddered to think of it.

Taking his attempts at making conversation in stride, she nodded slightly. “Good afternoon to you too. Lovely, isn’t it?” She said cordially, looking out over the lake again. Her heart sank a bit when he mentioned the pond, a blush quickly creeping to her cheeks. “Ah, actually that’s…” She giggled nervously. “That’s a failed baking project of mine. I didn’t want to waste it so—“ She trailed off, gesturing at the pond. “—The fish. They didn’t seem to mind the char.”

[John Thornton]

It was hard not to notice when someone was completely taken aback by you, and John frowned for a moment. What was wrong? Then it clicked and he winced inwardly at his own stupidity. It was something of an effort to relax his features, for he wore a scowl so often that it seemed to have bent his muscles slightly, but he tried, and the lines around his mouth and between his eyes shallowed a little. ”Thornton,” he corrected, trying to sound milder. ”And you, madam?” He hadn’t caught names at the meeting at the Doctor’s house, and at the compound... he’d been too busy trying to get between bullets and teachers to pay attention to anything.

She was very pretty. Thornton had given up on the fairer sex when he was thirty and the... downside of his ability had become apparent, (though to be honest, it had been before that when he realized how many women saw him for his money) but he still could appreciate them. He would just have to make sure he did not appreciate too obviously; he directed his gaze to the pond.

His eyes widened as Thornton realized he’d managed to step in it, rather badly. Blue eyes darted away from her as his eyebrows dropped. ”I’ve offended you,” he said flatly, for even though she did not sound offended. As if to mock him, one of the overly large goldfish rose to the surface and nibbled on the burnt morsels and Thornton was filled with the irrational desire to throw a rock at the stupid thing. It wasn’t like goldfish could remember to hold grudges after all. ”I bed your pardon.” He bowed his head stiffly, hands now clasped behind his back. It was stupidly odd fashioned, but if there was one thing Thornton hated it was making a fool of himself, and so he had a tendency to go overboard when trying to rectify the situation.

”Ah, perhaps it would be best if I took my leave...” It was obvious how very uncomfortable the englishman felt after his little mistake, for while he had managed to stop scowling quite so much, his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

Be kind to him, Clarisse. He doesn’t mean to be such a fuddy duddy

[Clarisse Prideaux]

“Thornton! That’s right…I’m sorry.” She apologized. She’d been close! Hopefully that counted for something! She assumed it did, since Thornton’s expression had actually seemed to soften. That was nice, considering before he’d been rather frightening. “Clarisse Prideaux…Doctor, if you would. Madame is for the married where I come from.” She said gently.

It was all Clarisse could do to keep from looking completely crestfallen. She really wasn’t offended, she was just so embarrassed! Besides, Thornton seemed to be having a harder time in the social situation than she was, so she scrambled to salvage it. “No, no you haven’t.” She corrected, pausing as he bowed stiffly. That was…a little odd. But Clarisse found the gesture sweet, if not painfully awkward. Laying her hand on her chest, she smiled quietly. “Please, there’s no need to apologize.” She chuckled slightly. “It does sort of look like pond scum.”

Overboard indeed! Clarisse blinked stupidly at Thornton, who was still stiffly glaring down at the pond when he announced his intentions to leave. “Ah, Mister Thornton you don’t have to. I mean you’re welcome to do as you please but I…” She paused to huff an uncomfortable little chuckled. “I’m not so offended as to demand your leave.”

[John Thornton]

"Doctor Prideaux," Thornton tried, mouth slipping slightly over the unfamiliar name and withholding a wince at the cultural mistake. Still, strange an attractive woman of her age (and a doctor, no less) was not married... What a thought, Thornton. Head out of the clouds, man.

And after all, she was French. Did they even believe in marriage, or just romance and wine?

Fortunately, though it did little to ease his sense of having just unwittingly insulted the lady, she seemed to be relatively unfazed. Looking out again at the pond and its layer of blacked sourdough, the power trainer watched as the koi worked at diminishing the so called 'pond scum'. He did not ask, but could not help but wonder what on earth she had been trying to bake, the remnants now indistinguishable from mould.

Again, he felt wooden and awkward as she hurried to let him know he could stay. This was much more difficult then it should be, and underneath his shirt and tie the Englishman's shoulders were tense. "You're most kind," he said slowly, fighting the urge to save his dignity and leave. Still looking down at her upon her towel. He felt impossibly tall and quickly tried to find some way to sit down that would avoid grass stains on his trousers. "I'm still settling in," he added, by way of an explanation, for he included the country as well as Hammel in the statement. Finally giving up on preserving his pants, John sat down slowly on the grass. His back was still ram-rod straight, though his shoulders and scowl relaxed somewhat.

"You're French," he said finally, looking back to his newly found companion. From his tone it was impossible to tell if he meant it as an insult or a compliment. "You went to Kocher?"

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse’s history of her marriage was not something she brought up. Ever. Except for once on a particularly sad night with Jackeroe, and even then she hadn’t told him the entire story. Some of the staff knew she’d been widowed, other simply that she’d once been married. Some didn’t know anything at all. She liked it that way. The less she had to think about it, the better.

She almost opened her mouth to invite Thornton to have a seat next to her on the blanket, but simply couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was a terrible thing to think, but she felt that his frigid personality might make her shiver, and that would be incredibly embarrassing. So instead she simply cleared her throat awkwardly when Thornton sat down, managing a smile as welcoming as she could fake.

She rarely had to fake a smile.

At this point, Clarisse was ready to write the brief encounter with Mister Thornton off as the worst social interaction she’d ever had. He was for first things, very short. And for second things, he did not seem very keen on the fact that she was French. For third things, he’d mentioned school.

Clarisse frowned.

Something to be known about Clarissa Prideaux, was that she did not like to frown. She preferred to smile, even when sad or upset as the simple act of smiling just made things seem better, no matter what. But school was not something she cared to discuss, particularly with a man who didn’t seem genuinely interested.

“No. I did not attend Kocher. I attended a military establishment in the south of France.” She said, her sentences put forth in a calm way, though they were quipped. It was very clear she didn’t like this topic. “It has since been closed, to my knowledge.” She added, hoping to steer the conversation far, far away.

“Did you attend Kocher? I can tell that you’re not from America by your accent.” She paused, tapping her ankle in thought. “In fact I…Perhaps, the United Kingdom? England?” It hadn’t been that long since she’d heard Dalton’s voice…she could easily recognize an English accent these days.

[John Thornton]

He’d said the wrong thing. He had obviously said the wrong thing, or knowing him, several wrong things. Even Thornton, with his issue with temperature, could tell that things had suddenly gotten a little more chilly.

A military academy? Oh bollocks... He’d heard of that sort of thing. It hadn’t sounded pleasant. Still, looking at the perfectly coffered woman sitting beside him it was hard to imagine her in a military uniform, snapping to attention and doing whatever else it was they did there...

He did not know, thank god. The British had not tried to forcibly conscript him to anything but Kocher. ”I graduated nearly ten years ago,” he answered, looking over his arm at her. She would be surprised by the answer; he did not look as young as 27. ”Managed to avoid the military. Nearly managed to avoid a special school entirely.”

Not the time to want to share, John.

”And yes, I’m from england. Up north.” Examining his shirt cuffs for any traces of dirt, (there were none), the stern faced man’s face was softening slowly, though his unwilling companions clipped tones caused a slight pursing of his lips. ”You’ve been to England then, Ma- Doctor?”

A normal person would have shifted slightly in their seat as muscles complained or started aching. Thornton did not move so much as half an inch. At work, back in London he'd trained himself to shift his weight from foot to foot and the like but at Hammel people were supposed to be more... well, open about abilities. The only movements he made were deliberate glances at Clarisse; not lewd (it was doubtful John Thornton could look sleazy if he tried) but evaluating.

And while he was not giving it away, he was liking what he saw.

If only he didn't have the sinking sensation that she, on the other hand, was no.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse blinked, doing the math in her head. There was absolutely no way that she was older than John Thornton. He was just so…so old! In mannerisms, in speech; frankly everything about him screamed crotchety old man.

Now that was a bit mean. She was certain there were lovely things about Mister Thornton. Perhaps he was just shy.

“How did you manage that?” She inquired, glad to have something to latch on to in the conversation besides awkward silence. That was, of course, until she put forth an awkward silence of her own, blushing slightly.

“Oh, no. I’ve never been to England. My last ah…boyfriend, I suppose you could call him---He was an Englishman. Is an Englishman.” She shook her head slightly, chiding herself inwardly for sounding so foolish. “After some difficulties here he left for home again.” She explained finally. “but the accent is quite distinctive.” Clarisse pointed out, steering the conversation back from whence it had come.

Clarisse wouldn’t have gone so far as to say she didn’t like what she saw in Mister Thornton. In fact, she would say that Mister Thornton was rather handsome, were it not for a consistent and off-putting scowl. It made his nose look big, On the contrary, Clarisse didn’t like what she heard. John seemed distant, cold, and almost as if he weren’t really keen on listening at all.

Just not the type of fellow that liked people, or so it seemed.

[John Thornton]

He could see her surprise. "I started late," he said somewhat flatly. If there was one thing he was not happy to share it was his late education.. and that before him he hadn't gone to university, or even finished school. And then had been dragged back, away from a job and some semblance of normality. No, that was not, in his opinion, something to be proud of.

But, she had asked for some sort of explanation and he did not want to refuse her. "Late discovery," he said bluntly. "By them, I mean. My ability isn't exactly obvious unless someone happens to start shooting at me, or I get in an accident. But, I slipped up." he huffed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck and for a moment looking somewhat sheepish. "A moment of youthful foolishness. Getting a,” he cleared his throat, ”a tattoo, does not work so well when your skin is bullet proof."

Now that would be a surprise, because the Thornton now would in no way appear to be the sort to even think about getting something so... well, improper.

John couldn’t help but start a little but smothered it quickly with a slight cough. ”Oh,” he said after a moment. ”I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was, because it sounded like some other English twat had stuffed up and that would not board well for other English suitors.

Not that he was going to be a suitor. John F. Thornton did not court women, especially women he’d managed to unintentionally insult and offend within the space of half an hour. He was no masochist.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

She nodded slowly. Lots of meta students started their power education late, especially those with powers that were difficult to discover. By what Thornton was stammering to describe (really he was doing a precise job of being perfectly vague), she could gather that his power was as such. After a short pause, she nodded again. Tattoos didn’t seem like something that suited him, but who was she to judge?

“Amored skin?” She guessed, tapping her heels together thoughtfully. “Perhaps invulnerability?” At least the guess-the-meta-power game lightened the mood slightly, if only just for Clarisse. She probably could have guessed better if he’d listed off some of his side effects. Clarisse managed a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry your tattoo didn’t work out.”

She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “No reason to be sorry, but I appreciate it.” She chuckled nervously. “I suppose I really shouldn’t have brought it up.”

[John Thornton]

"Ah, yes," Thornton said to the grass between his shoes. "Physical invulnerability, at least." He didn't go into the side effects. He never discussed the side effects, not even with himself. Instead, he scratched the end of his nose and frowned to himself until he remembered he was not on his own and glanced up with an apologetic smile-ish expression. "I am not," he said firmly, "it was a misguided idea. I don't know many accountants with tattoos."

Accounting wasn't as boring as everyone seemed to think, but for some reason as soon as he mentioned his past profession people's eyes started to glaze over. At least, he assumed it was a reaction to his job. It could be the tie pin, apparently they were seriously out dated. Or the accent. There were a lot of things, according to some of his students, that made people start singing in their minds when he started talking.

"He had a reason, I suppose," John started again, then caught himself. He didn't want to start a conversation about Clarisse's ex for gods sake. He was useless at talking to women but even he knew that. "Look, ah, Doctor Prideaux," it was no good telling his shoes, they wouldn't really care, and so he looked up and over at his elegant, charming companion.

Well, Josh would be happy with him at any rate. He was trying.

"I don't suppose you'd like to have dinner, some time?" Uncertainty showed in an otherwise fixed face, "with me," he added. "I haven't met a woman, well, a lady like you before, and, well..." he trailed off and ran a hand over his face.

That had torn it then.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse was having a hard time keeping conversation with a man who was more keen on staring at his feet than even in her general direction. She understood shyness but really, they were adults. Clarisse managed an awkward smile when he finally did look up. “Maybe you’re just…not many accountants?” She offered. Normally it wouldn’t have sounded so contrived, but she was starting to be really uncomfortable! Somehow, she wasn’t surprised he worked more with numbers and less with people.

The hand that Clarisse had waved to dismiss the subject curled into a loose fist, her throat tightening considerably. He had a reason? Oh my, Mister Thornton. You may have gotten yourself someplace you didn’t want to be. Clarisse cleared her throat to keep from simply storming away. When he addressed her by name, she looked at him blankly, her face surprisingly level for as cheery as she had tried to be.

She wanted to pinch herself.

There was simply, absolutely, no. way. that a social blunder that egregious could be made by any singular individual. Yet it appeared to be true…Mister Thornton was asking her out.

She looked to the grass for a moment in surprise, then back to Thornton’s eyes. “Mister Thornton…” she said cautiously, to be sure that his hanging sentence really was the end.” I---I don’t think that a dinner shared between the two of us would be very fun.” Was that final enough to make sure she never had to talk to him again? No? She really wanted to make sure, as wretched as that seemed. “I’m afraid I’m just…not comfortable.”

around you. was the mental continuation to that shut down. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it even if she did want to bluntly point out that Mister Thornton was quite possibly they harshest, stuffiest, and borderline meanest man she’d met to date.

“Also,” She added, because she simply couldn’t stop herself. “Doctor Campbell wasn’t the only one who suffered personal attacks because of MSAD. They drove Jake and I apart.” Clarisse had never sounded so short in her life.

Really this man was bringing out the worst in her.

[John Thornton]

Thornton was not shy. The very word made him think of a blushing girl hiding behind some sort of orient fan. No, he was... withdrawn. Broody. Unused to the company of anyone who wasn't a co-worker or his family. John Thornton was many of these things and more, but not shy.

And he withdrew even further behind his scowl when he saw he'd managed to put his foot in it, again. He'd commented on the ex. This was clearly a mistake. His own expression reset into an off putting frown, sitting much more comfortably on his face then the half smile he'd been trying out before.

She was going to say no. He could see it as soon as she looked back at him. As she went on, his own expression hardened and the lines around his mouth and between his eyes grew deeper. Rising to his feet abruptly, steady hands straightened his tie as he pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. "Of course," he said flatly, his voice a little rougher, his accent a tad harsher. "I would hate to rob you of fun, Doctor Prideux."

He had already turned to leave, for John was not one to stay when his pride had taken a hit, but she was not done yet. Her comment, clipped as it was, had him spinning on his heel as he scowled at her with furious eyes. An empty room, painted pink, and a letter he'd hidden were as stark as a crime scene. "You were not the only one," he snapped, his tone even shorter then hers, "that lost an opportunity because of those attacks. But I am sure my losses pale in comparison to yours. My apologies for wasting your time. Good day, Doctor."

Rejection, he could take. He did not like it, but he could take it. But being reminded of what he had almost had, what he could have reached out and touched before it was snatched away, and being reminded as if he was a child in need of scolding? No. That, he could not take.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse stared stupidly at him. She felt terrible. She couldn’t believe he was making her feel terrible! Dinner was supposed to be fun! How could he be so bent out of shape by a statement like that!? How unreasonable could one person really be? Still gawking, she watching him rise. She stumbled to stand as well, uncomfortable with the feeling of him looming over her.

She’d only barely managed to totter to her feet before he was in her face with an acidic complement of his own. “ Ta Gueule!” she nearly shouted, her mouth set grimly in her pretty face as she used the nearby try to balance herself. She was nearly spitting with rage
“Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a waste if weren’t so sure you’d be a cold, stuffy---!” He’d already stormed off, and Clarisse was left to reach down and fold up her blanket, huffing all the while.

“Casse-toi, pauvre con.” she growled under her breath as she stuffed the blanket under her arm and stormed back to the school. She would need a strong cup of tea after this, and perhaps a bit of a session with a punching bag. Clarisse had never disliked someone so suddenly in her life.

And that was saying something.