Destress/Restress

[Clarisse Prideaux]

“If you're blue, and you don't know where to go to
Why don't you go where fashion sits?
Puttin' on the ritz…”

Clarisse felt it was safe to say that she had never really obsessed over anything. Sure, she had her passions, but she generally felt it was unsafe to focus on one thing too intensely. As a big-band remake of “Puttin’ on the Ritz” tooted softly out of a pair of iPod speakers near her elbow, Clarisse chastised herself for doing just that. Poor Eli had been the topic of her thesis paper, and the conclusions she had drawn were rather concrete: There was no telling what Eli’s side effects were until later. Yet, she still hovered endlessly over his file.

”Different gowns upon a bevy of high brows from down the levy, all misfits
Puttin' on the ritz…”

She wasn’t sure if it was because her own side effects were so intense, or because her father had (supposedly) passed away due to his, or simply because she didn’t have much else to do, but Clarisse just couldn’t believe nothing effected Eli after an extended use of his powers. If that was the case, then Eli represented a highly evolved state of meta-human biology, not mention a possible cure for that flaw in being meta-human. Clarisse sighed and wilted, her shoulders collapsing and her forehead hitting the small round table in the staff lounge with a gentle thump.

“That's where each and every lulu-belle goes
Every Sunday evening with her swell girls
Rubbin' elbows!..”

Ringlets of stark black hair tickled her neck as they slid out of a loose bun. Clarisse brushed them away with a delicate hand tipped in finely manicured red nails. Sighing dramatically again, she sat up, a pained pout turning her red lips down. She rolled her shoulders and snapped Eli’s file shut, at least for now. The longue was for relaxing, and her office was much more conducive to work anyone. That way ChiChi could calm her nerves. Clarisse smiled distantly at the thought of her beloved pet and nodded to herself, tapping the folder twice with the pads of her fingers before pushing out from the table and standing to retrieve a cup of tea. She let the music play, allowing the swing rhythm to make her smile continue.

Come let's mix, where Rockefellers walk with sticks
And umbrellas in their mitts
Puttin' on the ritz…

Clarisse filled the coffee pot with hot water, but checked to make sure there was no filter left in the machine. Coffee was not her drink, for certain. Pleased that the filter was empty, Clarisse put the water in the coffee maker to filter and boil. Once the water was on, she smoothed her white collared shirt over her stomach, running her hands across the tops of her thighs as well to remove the wrinkles from her black pencil skirt. Primped properly so that her skirt wouldn’t sneak up over her knees, Clarisse leaned on the counter and reached for one of the cupboards above. Not being the tallest woman, one of her legs kicked up in the effort as her fingers strained for a mug.

”If you're blue, and you don't know where to go to
Why don't you go where fashion sits?”

Never one to show bare leg, Clarisse’s nylons may have been flattering, but they were in no way cooperating. Though she had managed to get the stark black seam to sit perfectly straight across her thighs and calves, the front of the stockings snagged on the bottom counter.

“Sacre Mere…” She hissed in French under her breath, hopping slightly to catch hold of a mug before she immediately checked the expensive piece of understated hosiery. When she turned her back to lean against the counter, breathing a sigh of relief that no rip existed in her leg-wear, her heels made a gentle scraping sound against the tile. Somehow feeling she had overcome a great deal, Clarisse simply closed her eyes and cradled the green mug she had valiantly retrieved from the top shelf against her chest.

”Puttin’ on the Ritz.
Puttin’ on the Ritz!”

[Darryl Bond]

There was a head bobbing beat going off in his head, like the last few bars of concert song. His head was next to the bass and he just couldn't resist doin' a bit of dancing. Each step was tense and robotical, his arms moved at ninety degree angles to the beat that only he could hear. Today had been hard on the poor man, and he was looking for some solace, or just a place that didn't have any one asking him to do a damn pirate voice. His beat was done and he was left standing in front of a door, he had so previously not known existed. Teacher's Lounge? Awesome. Not only would there be no grimy potheads, there would also be teachers, whom he had not met any yet. He pivoted on the balls of his feet and did a little spin before he actually walked inside. He was, if anything, an extravagant man. He almost did a little bow towards the hallway for his invisible audience.

The door was opened about half an inch when he caught some mysterious tune played out by what sounded like a small speaker system. At present, he had no idea what the song was, but he could appreciate any adult that even listened to music--since his impression of teachers was still scarred from his time at getting his license. He would probably put in his two weeks notice if that was the case. Darryl was here to enjoy himself, and since his arrival, the enjoyment had been in short supply.

That was, however, all forgotten the moment he saw those legs. The pencil skirt was designed to advertise the perfect hip and thighs while the panty hose showed off the perfect form of the calf muscle. He was observing them quite thoroughly when the owner of the legs dropped from the counter. He was frozen at the door, one hand still on the knob while his mouth formed a little 'o'. He composed himself, however, because he was good like that. He drew himself up in his casual button up and slacks--he did feel underdressed when compared to this dark haired beauty--and smiled his friendly little smile. She seemed to be composing herself after hopping down from the counter, a green mug in her hand.

"Good afternoon." He said as he stepped to the counter. The sound of a burbling coffee pot reached his ears and his brain registered that as a need. And who was he to deny that of himself? He needed coffee after his day so far. He didn't need to employ the use of the counter to retrieve a mug and with a small glance and smile towards the unnamed woman, he retrieved his own mug, of the same design only his was a deep blue. He held it with his hand cupped around it, his fingers through the handle. He moved back a few steps, establishing their personal space before he bowed his head a little.

"I'm Mr. Bond--I've just started this morning." With a little flourish of his hand he smiled towards her. "And who might you be?" He was just a friendly and curious sort of guy, no harm in asking, right?

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse did not notice the door open, so she didn’t do anything different except continue to compose herself. After a few deep breaths, she looked down at the coffee maker. It was hissing, the pot full of clear boiling water instead of the normal sludge that percolated within. Smiling a bit, Clarisse turned around to look in the basket of tea bags when she caught an identified man approaching her at the counter.

A very handsome unidentified man.

She simply blinked at him and looked slightly surprised. Clarisse was sure that she had at least seen every staff official at Hammel with the eight years she’d been in and out. Granted, she was still meeting some of them, but she didn’t recognize this man at all. Tilting her head a bit, she looked him over again (just to get another look just to be certain it wasn’t someone she knew). He was either a counselor or a teacher of an elective subject, given his casual attire. Or perhaps he was just that kind of fellow. His facial hair suggested to Clarisse (who knit-picked everything) that he probably was that kind of fellow. Laid back, that is.

“Good Afternoon.” She replied with a gentle smile as he drew his own mug from the cupboard. Her accent was weak from all the time she had spent in the states, but the French lilt still smoothed the edges of her words, giving them a warm, sultry quality.

Mister… Clarisse’s mouth tightened over a wide grin, leaving her smile close-lipped. She had been in the states long enough to find some immature humor in anyone with the last name ‘Bond.’ For the sake of her own poor self-control, Clarisse hoped his first name was not James. She didn’t think she could keep herself from laughing at that rate.

“Mister Bond.” Clarisse repeated, inclining her head return. “Doctor Prideaux. Clarisse Prideaux.” She chuckled a bit at his flourish. In fact, Mister Bond had an air of flourish about him; theatricality practically oozed from him. Even the way he’d introduced himself without a first name was dramatic. It was oddly amusing. Clarisse didn’t mind at all, really. Some people (like she) like to make a statement with their clothes (read: seamed nylon stockings catch attention) and others with their personalities (read: razzle-dazzle sans dazzle).

Clarisse selected a variety of black tea and placed the back in her cup. As she reached for the pot, she smiled encouragingly at him. “If this is your first morning…Welcome to Hammel. My hope is that you like it here as much as I do.” She toasted, raising her mug toward him just before she filled it with the steaming water. Turning again so that her back was leaning against the counter, she held her mug with both hands.

“And what career is it that you just started this morning, Mister Bond?” she inquired, curious if she would be seeing more of him or not.

[Darryl Bond]

He got a rather old age feel from her, and not because of her style of clothing--because that certainly was in fashion currently--but because of how she did her hair and makeup. He felt like the room should be black and white and that one of them was about to break into a song about something menial but important at the same time. He grinned at the mental image of himself in a forties styled pinstripe suit and fedora. It wasn't necessarily a bad image, just a bit strange, because for that look to not look silly, he'd have to shave his facial hair to go with the whole 'clean' appearance. But Darryl liked his mustache and goatee, so he'd never be a flapper.

He caught her looking over him, and while he knew mostly it was her checking to see if she actually knew him or not, some part of her was also checking him out which pleased him inwardly. He wondered if they had gone to school together, so he mentally went through his yearbook, but he kept drawing blanks. If he had known this woman, he would have remembered her--especially since she was a meta. And he would certainly remember a face like hers (but more importantly, legs like hers). When she spoke, he picked up the accent that was somewhat watered down. So she was foreign, and though he had only heard two words so far, he knew it was European. He grinned faintly at that and inclined his head towards her. He noticed her reaction to hearing his name, and while he mostly just introduced his last name only was because of that reason. He liked people holding back their surprised laughs or grins from learning that he was Mr. Bond. It was always even better when he said so with his thick and gritty Sean Connery voice. He hadn't done that in quite a long time, though. Maybe he'd do it to the next teacher he met? Perhaps.

He noticed, for the first time, that the coffee pot wasn't actually full of the black nectar, but hot water. So it would be tea he would be drinking. He was from the South end of the United States, so of course, he loved tea. He had just been looking forward to coffee. She introduced herself and he knew then that she hailed from France, which was rather sexy. He wasn't exactly sure why that combination was as appealing as it was, just that he liked the idea. It was even more impressive that she was a doctor of whatever she was here for. He knew that just because she had the title 'doctor' didn't mean she was an actual medical 'doctor' because that weedy looking guy Darryl had run across on his second day in Vermont was a 'doctor' of english because of the money he threw at school. Darryl definitely didn't have the money (even after being in a handful of movies and screen plays) to spend eight years working on a doctorate, though saying he was a Doctor of Theater was interesting.. He inclined his head towards her as he fished out a packet of tea on his own, though where she picked black, he picked green. He needed the energy.

"I am hopeful as well." He agreed with her as she wished him to enjoy his time here just as much as she did. He took hold of the coffee pot as she returned it to its maker and poured himself his own cup. He wrapped the string of tea around his index finger and then dipped the tea bag into the scalding water. He moved his finger around in a circular motion, which caused the bag to move as well. He watched the bag move for a moment before he smiled up at her and her question.

"Please, call my Darryl." He grinned his signature grin that lit his eyes up and turned almost his entire face up in a smile. "I would be the new theater director. It's my hope to show these kids some appreciation towards the screen and curtains and the people behind it all." He smiled a little more genuinely and distantly. It was something he was very passionate about, that much was obvious.

"And what keeps you around here, Dr. Pideaux?" He asked because he really was curious about her profession. She was dressed up like she was a principal or some sort of administration job but something told him, her job was more personal and less stuffy than a desk job.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse was much more passive about steeping her tea than Darryl was. She simply lowered the bag into the steaming mug and gently wrapped the tail around the handle, leaving it alone to rest while she turned her attention back to Darryl. It spoke to her personality really, the fact that she simply let her tea sit. Her patience was generally unrivaled at the school, mostly out of necessity. If she let her temper get out of control (and make no mistake, it tended to do that) then not only would the kids not want to come to her for help, but there would be a serious threat of her demolishing something. She never was able to control her strength in situations like that.

Charmed by his smile, Clarisse’s own lit up as well, but she demurely dipped her head and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He certainly had a contagiously pleasant manner about him, one that Clarisse appreciated. The way many things went in the world for meta-humans, some didn’t really bother to be pleasant. Perhaps it was just Mr. Bond’s theatricality that made him interesting (or perhaps it was his looks), but Clarisse was glad for it all the same.

“Darryl it is then. I was worried you were going to say James.” She joked softly, giggling a little. “But I’m sure you get that a lot. Particularly with people who actually grew up with those films and novels, hm?” Shaking her head and peaking over the rim of her mug to check her tea. The bag was sending tendrils of darkened water out into the mug, but it was in know way the warm, dark color it should have been. Absently, Clarisse shifted her mug back and forth to stir the water around. “Its good to know the fine arts are going strong at Hammel, though. Particularly if the teacher is going to be so passionate about his work.” Clarisse complimented.

“Me?” Clarisse asked. “I am a meta-human biologist. Side-effects specialist for the school.” She explained. Gesturing vaguely, she chuckled. “A bit of…a glorified school nurse.” She added with a nod, looking back to him. “The funding from Hammel is what earned me my doctorate. I wrote my thesis on one of the faculty members. Hammel is my family, my home.” Clarisse had that same look in her face as Darryl had speaking about his profession. Clearly not only did Clarisse love her job, but her place of employment as well. Hammel had saved her, and she wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

[Darryl Bond]

Darryl wrapped his hand around his cup as he scratched at the facial hair on his chin for a moment. It itched sometimes. He glanced over at her and saw that she was letting the tea mix on its own by just sitting there. He noticed the patient expression on her face and could respect that she could leave the teabag to its own devices for the time being. He, on the other hand, wasn't so passive about it. He looked down as he started to stir the teabag again, he transferred the cup from that hand to his other and lifted the bag completely out of the water.

He judged the mixture was good enough to work with so he walked himself and his tea over to the trash bin and let the soggy bag fall into the bag. He glanced inside of it, just out of some old habit, and then returned to his position at the counter next to her. He waved his fingers in the air, again because of some old habit, until he located the sugar and once he did, he bottoms-upped it until he was sure he had taken away all healthy value from the tea. He returned it to it's position and then glanced around, seeing a bunch of coffee stirrers sitting inside a cup, he plucked one up and mixed his tea into his sugar and smiled at her. He liked what her accent did to his name. It was...different. He chuckled along with her. "Yes...my parents decided to save me a life time of jokes with that one." He wondered faintly if she would catch the significance if he spoke a bit as Mister Sean Connery as James Bond, and decided that since she had specifically pointed out that he would have been hounded by 'people who actually grew up with those films and novels,' he decided she just knew him by reputation and not that Sean Connery was the original and best 007. of all time. He was sad to let such a perfect setup go to waste, but he also didn't want to create any awkward tension. Next time. He'd get another setup for something, some other time.

"Oh, I wouldn't know about 'strong' but there are a few hopefuls out there...it's much too soon to brag about anything yet." He did seem a bit regretful in that aspect, since the arts department had seriously been neglected until his arrival. Nevermatter. By the end of this semester, he'll have scores of people eager to sign up for the next semester play--and not just because of his dashing good looks either. He had a way of getting people amped up and ready to dance in the spotlight. He caught her compliment as an afterthought and his smile was directed at her. What a sweetheart, he thought. Of course he could tell she actually meant it, which just added to his ego.

He listened with slightly raised eyebrows at her description of her job. He remembered having to take a sort of voice therapy when he was in school. The strain that changing voices had on his vocal cords left him rather raspy and hoarse most of the time and he had visited her predecessor quite often so he knew of how important her job was. And for that, he tipped his hat towards her--or he would if he was wearing a hat. "And you no doubt do a great job. I respect you on having such an important and respectable career." He smiled humbly towards her, especially seeing the fire in her spirit as she spoke about it. There was a woman who found her niche, her calling, in life and he...felt priveleged to see it. Yes, he was made for and worked his entire life to be a part of Theater, but he still wasn't sure that teaching at a meta-prepschool was his 'calling'. He had always thought he....was cut from a different sort of cloth. The A-class sort of cloth that made millions of dollars.

Not that he thought money was terribly important. He was in it for the prestige, the recognition--the popularity that came with it. The money was just a bonus. He realized, belatedly, that he had a great opportunity to introduce his talent of voice-changing. A cartoon by the name of The Animaniacs, which was about three crazy little characters that were related and their odd exploits, occasionally came across this rather voluptuous and beautiful woman that was, in fact, a nurse. Instead of calling her by her name, the two boy characters would go misty eyed and say, 'hellllooooo Nurse!" Darryl knew that that show was rather young for him to have watched at the time--he was middle school aged about the time the show aired on Kids WB--and if she was an immigrant from France then there was probably no way she would have ever heard of her seen that show--enough to recognize his reference anyway. So again, he had to let his chance slide away from him.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Curiously watching as Darryl went about the ritual of his tea-making, Clarisse couldn’t help but laugh as he tipped nearly the entire container of sugar into his mug. Something like that was practically sacrilegious in Clarisse’s mind. She was still a little upset they had no sugar cubes. She preferred the cubes, since they were so perfectly rationed, the served the true purpose of sugar just exquisitely: to sweeten and enhance the flavor of the tea…not drown it in a grainy mess. “Take a little tea with your sugar, Darryl?” She asked playfully, continuing to laugh. Americans and their sugar.

Perhaps it wasn’t just his over use of the sugar that made her laugh either. While Clarisse was generally good humored and it wasn’t difficult to make her laugh, she found a smile brought to her face by his quirky mannerisms. The way his body reacted to the workings of his mind was just…funny! She wondered if he was aware of them at all, or if they were things his limbs just did. Then Clarisse wondered if she had any of those traits. She couldn’t think of any as she looked distantly at the coffee maker.

Then Darryl’s voice floated back to her and she blushed slightly. Though she was sure he would noticed that she had spaced out, she made sure to be attentive to his comment on the school’s lack of fine arts. While Clarisse had never witnessed this lack, several of the professors and trainers often pointed out the absence of intensive fine arts classes that the public education system usually embraced. In fact, these programs probably would have been even better embraced at Hammel, what with sonic manipulators and reality benders on the roll call. Clarisse shook her head. “Well, I’m sure there will be plenty to brag about in the coming months, should you choose to stay with us for that long.” Peeking at her tea again, Clarisse drew the mug too her, the heavy bottom scraping across the countertop as she slid it towards her. “Passion is the mark of greatness.”

Clarisse laid her free hand over her heart and tipped her head down modestly, shaking her head a bit. “Its nothing so lofty as all that. I love the students, and I want to give them ah--uhm…” Clarisse cleared her throat, looking away from Darryl in discomfort for a moment. What did she say no? She wanted to give them a chance not to be used as a weapon? Wanted to give them a chance not to kill their husband or wives on accident, and then be depressed for nigh an eternity? Looking back to him and smiling nervously, she finally settled on something. “I want to give them better than what I had.”

Desperate to change the subject, or at least divert Darryl’s attention from her own discomfort, Clarisse fell back on what everyone fell back on at Hammel. The question was tried and true in the school, and Clarisse had no doubt that several of the teen relationships that began within the school’s halls had started with this question.

“Anyway…What exactly brings you to Hammel?”

In the meta-human world, a question like that was code for “what freakish abilities do you posses?” It was the polite way to satiate everyone’s curiosity. It was very rare for non-powered individuals to acquire positions on the staff of Hammel, though she could see no reason why a non meta-human would be able to fill the position of theatre teacher. If that were the case, Clarisse hoped that Darryl would simply respond that he had a passion for equality, and not that he really had no idea what he was getting into.

“Aside from a lucrative teaching career.” Clarisse added lightheartedly.

[Darryl Bond]

"It's the sugar that gives the boost of energy." He confided in her with a playful wink. "I grew up in the South, and sweet tea is about the only way to go," he added on a slightly more serious note. He took a little drink of it and smiled. Perfect. He took another little sip and made the approving, "aahhh." that came mandatory with drinking a nice cup of tea. He wasn't sure if that was an international thing or not, but he did know that everyone in the South did it that way, which was fine with him. He swished his cup around a little, thinking about his past when her lilty and almost sultry voice came to him. He looked up, out of his revere and nodded.

"I don't see why I can't hang around. I mean, things are starting to look up." He smiled a little wider than previously because he usually got excited with his flirting, whether he was being subtle or running with his swag on completely. He was just a giddy and excitable person.. He was sobered though, when her reaction to his flattery about her job was...well she reacted differently than he would have thought. She didn't take his compliment in stride, or humbly, but almost..somberly. Like she had an extremely personal reason for doing her job, outside of enjoying it. That was only solidified by her add on, "better than what I had." Darryl wanted to reach out an console her, but he wasn't terribly sure if she would like him in her bubble after meeting him so soon. Some people were casual about it, like Darryl, but he chalked her up to be one of those people that only opened up to people she knew for a long time. He reserved himself to extending his hand on the counter and patting it faintly.

"If your passionate about it, I am sure you will help everyone you can." He was sincere in his words, and not just because he liked to avoid conversation downers, but because he didn't like seeing beautiful women sad. He noticed her abrupt change in topic and he didn't press the matter. She probably really was one of those people that only opened up to a close group of people. He smiled a little at this new opening.

She wanted to know what his powers were, and while that was the total topic cliche at this school, he was also curious as to what she could do. He smiled as he let his power work at his throat. Nothing visible changed while he rubbed his throat with some of his fingers. "Well," he said with her own voice coming out of his throat. "I specialize in vocal mimicry, and can also chance my face in different ways." His head tilted to the side just a little as he smiled at her. Her voice felt rather strange coming out of his own mouth, because he rarely mimicked women--it was demoralizing to both him and the woman he was imitating.

He rubbed his throat as his cords returned to their normal patterns and he cleared his throat once and took a soothing sip of tea. "It's more or less helped me acquire my roles in the motion pictures I have had roles in." He couldn't help but toot his own horn a little before he gestured towards her with a little nod of his head. "And yourself?" He would like to make his own guess of what her powers were, but either he would make something that was so off target, it would embarrass him, or he'd get it right (which he seriously doubted) and take away the thrill of her revealing her own power to him. He took another sip of tea to hide his smile.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

She smiled graciously at him. While she appreciated his attempt at solace, she really did, she also really wished she hadn’t brought it up in the first place. Generally she preferred that the school didn’t know she was a murderer…accidental or otherwise. Reaching out to pick up her tea, she leaned over the mug and inhaled the warm, wet vapors, sighing softly. Now the tea was ready. Snatching up a plastic spoon from the nearby coffee tray, Clarisse pulled the teabag out of her mug. Catching the bag on the spoon, she wrapped the string around the spoon and bag and wrung the last remaining drops of mahogany brown liquid from the teabag before tossing it into the trash. At the sound of his little sigh of contentment, Clarisse nodded. “I can see that clearly the sugar does it. You already seem to be enjoying it.”

Turning from him for a moment to the mini-fridge that occupied the corner, Clarisse bent down daintily to retrieve a small carton of cream from the bottom shelf. Really it was more of a crouch, since it wasn’t exactly lady-like (or safe, taking into account the height of Clarisse’s shoes) to bend down from the waist. Returning with the small carton in her hand, Clarisse tipped some of the cream into her tea and stirred it gently until the cloudiness dissipated, leaving her tea a gentle caramel color.

She brought it to her lips and blew across the surface, watching intently as he touched his throat. She nearly dropped her mug when she heard him speak. Clarisse’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth hung in an ‘o’ for a moment before she laughed with delight and put her mug back on the counter. Tea forgotten, she clapped softly. “That, Mister Bond, is amazing.” She complimented earnestly, impressed that he could not only manage to reach her vocal range, but mimic her accent and timbre perfect. “Magnifique.” She added, nodding.

Clasping her hands in front of her now, she tilted her head slightly. “You are a movie actor as well as a stage presence? That’s very impressive.” Clarisse complimented again, reaching out to take a dainty sip from her mug. She was always a little nervous about sharing her own powers, if only because she tended to sound a little nerdy explaining them (and the last time she’d showed off she’d locked herself in her room for three hours).

“Well, my power is linked much more closely with my biology.” Clarisse began slowly, trying to form the best words for a non-scientist. “Hm…Ah…Do you know, that when you are in trouble, you have an adrenaline rush?” Clarisse asked, gesturing squarely to her left. Her hands swept to the right as she continued to explain. “Well, this hormone---adrenaline as it is called--- it makes the body do amazing things. In…In my they are just---“ She paused and shrugged her shoulders. “More amazing? I guess.” She laughed a bit nervously and, crossing one arm over her waist, leaned her chin on her hand.

“Super-strength.” She finally said, with a bit of exasperation at her own round-about explanation. “Or rather, super-adrenaline.”

[Darryl Bond]

Her ritual contrasted his nearly exactly. Where he force-mixed his tea, she let it soak up, and barely stirred it by moving the cup, where he walked it over to the trashcan and quickly transferred it from one to the other, she neatly and efficiently put a spoon beneath it and took her sweet time with it. He grinned to himself at seeing this part of her personality, since it was something not most people took the time to realize that what you did really showed who you were. She was a neat and orderly person with patience, and Darryl...was not.

He couldn't help but notice the crouch she went into to retrieve something from the minifridge. Now, Darryl was many things, but an out-right starer, he was not. He sipped his tea and looked out at the opposite wall. That, however, didn't mean he wasn't watching out of his peripherals. And what a pair of legs she had on her. Just delicious. He took a semi long pull from his tea and let the hot liquid on his tongue distract his mind.

He smiled at her response to his display of power. Some women found it condescending, and he was glad to see she was (maybe) impressed and delighted by it. Of course, it wasn't every day that someone could match your voice quite literally. "Thank you very much, Miss Prideaux," he said in reply to her praise. He wouldn't be who he was if he didn't do a little hand gesture and bow, which he did as he replied. He straightened with a little smile about his face. She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him for a moment. "Yes, I've not been on the big screen yet, but I like to be optimistic and say that I've only just begun."

He listened to her explanation of what adrenaline was, and while he found it amusing that she seemed to stumble over herself, he was taken aback because it seemed like she had assumed he didn't know what adrenaline was. He, who was used to live audiences, spot lights, monologues, fight scenes, and just...well everyday life. The adrenaline was what made his job fun (aside from the prestige...and of course being another person). He decided to take the middle ground, with a small nod of his head. "Ah yes. Either an aid or a hindrance in a situation... adrenaline."

His smile widened a bit more at her exasperation. It was cute in the way that it was completely unnecessary. Super strength did sound like a rather helpful power to have, though Darryl kept picturing the more...promiscuous times when adrenaline was present and he couldn't help but wonder what that would be like with super strength in the mix. "That sounds like a good time." He admitted, not only to her, but with his trail of thoughts, and while he'd be up for experimentation, he certainly had more tact than that and was certainly not going to suggest anything, in the mean time.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

The last thing Clarisse found it was condescending. She was almost flattered that he hadn’t over exaggerated her or anything, but rather reproduced her voice perfectly. Whenever anyone tried to imitate her without the likes of Darryl’s powers it always came out as an over-the-top, incredibly inaccurate French accent and a sentence involving the phrase “je ne sais crois” which didn’t even make grammatical sense in French.

She chuckled a bit at his bow, shaking her head as he continuously revealed the theatrical aspects of his personality. Clarisse certainly found him…interesting. She couldn’t say she had met someone before who was so over-the-top, but so…not. Darryl had a smooth theatricality about him that was far more charismatic than it was garish and she did find it truly fascinating. She only hoped she could catch him alone more often, to see what else he would throw into a social situation. “I’m surprised you haven’t landed a role. Even just standing here talking to you, you’re full of charisma.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Like every movie star I’ve ever admired.” Clarisse’s version of flirting? Complimenting.

Wait. Flirting? Clarisse mental shook herself. What the hell? She never flirted! She was through with all that nonsense. Taking another sip of her tea, she exhaled a lengthy breath into her mug, letting the steam wash her face for a moment. That was really enough of that. When her face reappeared from behind her mug, her cheeks were still slightly pink.

“In my case, both.” Clarisse replied in regards to Darryl’s comment on adrenaline. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he knew what it was, she was just flustered. She hated explaining her power, mostly because it had recently come to her attention that she didn’t have as good of a grasp on it as she would have liked. Until she started working full-time at Hammel, she did not realize that better control over a power could entail having better control over side effects. “Last time I lifted a car I was out of commission for a week.” Clarisse added, shivering a bit. As far as she could remember, that was the last time she’d used her power, and that was years back.

Clarisse wasn’t sure if it was her mind being dirty, or Darryl insinuating something that would make any proper lady turn a little pink, but she certainly couldn’t think of any ’good times’ that she had had (recently) thanks to her ability. Though somehow, she managed to retort just as vaguely. “I wouldn’t say that, but it certainly makes things interesting.”

Where on earth did that come from?! She took another sip of her tea, nearly draining it to the dregs in embarrassment. She made another mental note to be unsupervised around Darryl as little as possible outside of school grounds.

[Darryl Bond]

The key to being a good impressionist is not over-exaggeration. Most people did that just to get added laughs, but it just makes the impressionist look like an asshole. The key was much more subtly. You could quote a person all day, lower your voice or raise it according to the person, but you'd still be yourself just talking in a silly voice. To impersonate someone, you'd have to get their little ticks and their personality as well, the expressions they make when they speak, and of course, be able to do their voice rather well. Darryl was nearly a master of the art, seeing as he'd been doing it for a little more than ten years. (good god, I'm old)

"We all gotta start small, and work up. The reward is much better that way." He smiled as he humbled himself, though honestly the only reason he hadn't landed a role that was huge was because he'd just been floating around with small time producers. If his name and face got up to someone like Wes Craven or..or even Tim Burton. He'd probably kill to be in a Burton movie. He wasn't terribly, terribly sure if what she said, or how she said it really, meant she was flirting with him or she was just a rather sweet person. If how she had been acting in the past ten minutes or so was any indication, Darryl guessed she was just being truthful and complimenting him. He could be wrong, however. Guessing wasn't an exact science, or they wouldn't call it 'guessing.' It was, however, after she had finished taking her drink and revealed her pink cheeks that he began to believe she had surprised even herself with that line. So maybe it was flirting, in it's most harmless form? Darryl wasn't sure, but at least he was enjoying himself.

And she looked rather cute with a blush.

Darryl had a rather easy imagination to work with, but even with that he couldn't actually see her lift a car. Not in those heels anyway. Maybe in jeans and sneakers, but this woman didn't seem the type to dress so casually--of course he also didn't peg her as the type to lift cars. "That's very interesting." He said, quite honestly, because it was. It was a sight to see, no doubt. He wasn't about to ask for a demonstration, however, because that would be rather rude--in the lifting a car aspect, the thought patterns he had been entertaining..not so much--so he took a small drink of his tea.

"No kidding?" He grinned as she said it made things interesting. He was good at following along in conversations and knew she wasn't referring to lifting cars, but about what he had commented (more to himself, privately) about a good time. "And this is...speaking from experience, I assume?" He asked cheekily. He noted that she nearly drained her cup of tea and wandered if he was about to tread into dangerous territory. He didn't spot a ring on her finger, and it wasn't like he was...well demanding anything. It was all in good fun. He hoped she didn't take it badly and get angry at him--it'd ruin a perfectly enjoyable conversation.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse struggled to justify her…friendliness (Flirting? What’s that? Denial? What’s that?) Darryl was being friendly, she was just returning the favor. Not that being nice was a favor. Clarisse attempted to be nice to everyone. So why was she being particularly “nice” to Darryl? Clarisse resisted the urge to bash her forehead into the counter in embarrassment.

“Interesting is a word.” Clarisse grumbled. “I was quite surprised, myself. I do my best not to use my powers when I can help it.” Chuckling a bit to keep herself from getting in the dumps, she added “I’m not one to ruin my nice clothes.” As she said this, she reached down and plucked one of her own dark hairs from the hem of her blouse, meticulously smoothing her skirt over her thigh.

Blushing again as Darryl grinned, Clarisse looked to the ceiling enigmatically. She had to admit, she missed playing the game. Not to say she was trying to win over Darryl, but she didn’t enjoy the casual flirtation back and forth. It was…liberating. In an odd sort of way. Not that she needed any liberating. She was perfectly happy without anyone in her life for now. Until she got control over all aspects of her life, it wasn’t prudent to be flirting really.

But wouldn’t it be nice to just give up control for once?

“No kidding.” Clarisse parroted. He was going to be cheeky? She could return the favor. She raised an eyebrow when he inquired as to her experiences. Well, she wasn’t one for divulgence of any type. Mystery was truly what made a woman appealing. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She said with a mock scoff and a tension in her face that was a clear attempt to hide a grin.

Normally Clarisse would have blown him off, but this was surprisingly fun! Darryl wasn’t sleazy (for now) and she didn’t feel threatened really. If anything she thought the acquisition of a new friend was a triumph. Though she generally considered herself amicable, Clarisse had found recently that she didn’t really have many friends at Hammel, just many acquaintances. Granted, it was nice not have any enemies, but she could say that it was sometimes a bit tragic to realize she didn’t really know much about anyone. Darryl represented all kinds of chances! Friends, flirting, freedom…

And did I mention Clarisse found him incredibly good looking?

[Darryl Bond]

She grumbled and he couldn't help but grin to his tea. She either realized she was flirting with him, and didn't like the fact that she was doing it, or she had been flirting and didn't like the fact she was doing. But who couldn't flirt with a face like Darryl's? It was something he had learned quite a while ago and tended to use that. (It didn't occur to him that it was just his friendly personality mostly, with his face.)

He was surprised and curious at the same time when she said she didn't use her powers unless she had to. He was someone that used his powers as much as he could, even when he didn't really need to, because he liked the attention. He knew that not everyone was in the same boat as him, but since he hadn't been near any large group of meta since he met the school, he had sorta forgot that not all meta were like him in that aspect. He sensed some dark and sad reason as to why she didn't use her powers, so he wasn't inclined to ask about it. He also noted that as she tacted on the thing about her clothes, that she didn't want to linger. "They are rather nice clothes." He agreed with a small smile, letting her know that yes, he had noticed, and since he was rather good at not being sleazy, he didn't gaze over her now, even if she brought the attention to her blouse and skirt by removing hair and smoothing them out in that order. He kept his eyes on her face with a small smile.

Wouldn't he like to know. Yes, he wanted to say. I do want to know. But where would that lead? Down and awkward trail, which isn't where he wanted to go. He grinned faintly and took a drink from his tea, noticing that he was about done with it. As he was preparing to finish his coffee, his eyes drifted to the clock on the opposite wall and his swallow had a bit of a catch in it. Had that much time passed already?! Sadly, he had to go back to class in only a few minutes. He finished his tea and set the empty drink on the counter. "I would love to finish this conversation." He said turning his eyes back to her, an innocent smile on his face.

"Perhaps over dinner?" There were several other things he could have said to be more subtle or classic, but he was working on a timer now. If their time together in the staff lounge was going to continue, well then they had to plan for it. Like which resturaunt, what time, and what day. Of course there was a chance she didn't feel comfortable with that, which was fine with him. He still wanted to talk to her again. "Or another lunch break," he tacked on with another smile, showing her there were other options and he was a rather hospitable guy.

He also didn't want to mess up a chance at getting a perfectly good friend. She was nice and he had fun talking to her. Things like asking people on a date were ruiners for things like that. He also didn't want to cross any boundaries and offend her by being too forward. It was a pretty good gamble on how she would react but he was fairly sure things would turn out like he wanted...

[Clarisse Prideaux]

While Clarisse liked the occasional attention just like any human being, she couldn’t say she often clamored for it. She figured she’d had enough attention put on her early in her life, and now felt it was probably best just to lie low. She spent so much time running from her past that she couldn’t fathom strutting around like a peacock. No, Clarisse was content to be a quiet beauty, and a loving friend. That was enough attention for her. She inclined her head humbly when Darryl complimented her clothing. “Well thank you.” She said, pleased that he’d stayed looking at her face. Well he passed that test! Maybe flirting wasn’t such a bad idea?

Picking up on the catch in his draft, Clarisse peeked at the clock, also slightly surprised by the quick passage of time. Though she didn’t technically have any pressing work to attend to, she should probably get back to her office. There was no telling who would need her or when. “Yes! Next time we see eachoth--Dinner?” Clarisse said, fully planning to give Darryl a friendly sending off and hope to see him again. But he’d gone a step further and suggested a meeting outside of school. Or had he? Was she hearing him correctly? She laughed a bit.

“Ah…Dinner.” She said again, surprised at her lack of eloquence. “Lunch is…its not as easy for me.” Clarisse explained. “Office hours.” She added, smiling and dumping out the dregs of her tea to rinse out the mug. The cleanly action gave her an excuse to turn her back to Darryl for a moment and calm her blushing. While she was definitely excited at the prospect of an evening out for the first time in forever, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that she’d just been asked out on a date.

No. It wasn’t a date. Just a chance to continue the conversation. That’s right. No dates here.

After a deep breath, Clarisse turned around and offered a gentle, charming smile. “That would be lovely. It would be nice to meet with you outside of the school, when the clock isn’t ticking in our ears.” She said sincerely, exhaling a long breath out of her nose. Her heart was racing, but only because she was just too excited for words. Her grip tightened on the counter to avoid the tension of her enthusiasm registering on her face or elsewhere in her body.

“Did you have anything in mind?” She asked casually. Unfortunately, Clarisse could do much by way of suggesting a specific restaurant. She occasionally ate out, but never anywhere often enough to remember the food. After all, Clarisse didn’t go out much at all. She preferred to stay at home and cook her own candle lit dinner.