mission: metamorphosis {evie}

[Prosper Darcy]

Metamorphosis.

It was the singular thought that had motivated Prosper through his first day; and, for the most part, it had been fairly successful. Metamorphosis? How was it relevant? Well, he was trying to turn his life around, correct? It'd been his goal, to return as much normalcy as possible to his existence. Not to mention, it was about time for the social butterfly that exists in the pit of every human being - save the misanthrope, which he was not exactly - to emerge from Mr. Darcy himself.

Although the bell to dismiss the final class had rung quite a bit ago, he had found himself not wanting to beat it. Drama would not have been too happy about this; however, he felt that the sole company of a canine would no longer satisfy him. Currently he busied himself with taking a large bottle of Arizona Green Tea from the fridge in the corner. He'd put it there this morning, and the crisp refreshment appealed to him most now, when he had spoken more in one day than he had for quite some time. Voluntarily, that is.

Twisting round from the fridge, Prosper idled over to one of the chairs occupying the room, and sat leisurely. His messenger bag, bulging with copies of photographs, syllabi, and model waivers, was sprawled aimlessly on the table in front of him, in the fashion of a teen who had just arrived home after a long day in high school, and decided to abandon it. In some way, that's exactly what had happened; but Darcy was far from a teen, and it would be imperative for him to not ditch the bundle. Instead, he unlatched the buckle, unfurled the leather flap, and stuffed his hand in.

Removing a wad of notebook paper, which was scrawled in the hands of his students, Prosper removed the rubber band from their rolled forms, and splayed them out to read. In the meantime, a shaky and pallid hand popped the tab on the Arizona, and he took a few long, complacent gulps from it. Ahhh. Instantly his shoulders slumped, the parched smacking of his tongue to the top and bottom of his mouth ceased, and his eyes steadied on the door of the lounge for some time. For those few moments, the first-day-introductory-assignments completed by his kids were forgotten; but when he had convinced himself that it would be best for him to actually do something productive while he was in here, Mr. Darcy's eyes slowly fell again.

Of course, just in case, he kept his peripherals on the threshold, secretively imploring the entry of another soul through that door. His expression while reading and drinking, contrary to his anticipation, remained quite stoic.

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[Evangeline Covington]

Teaching was something that Evie had never been able to picture herself doing at any point of her life, prior to actually giving it a go. However, Evie assumed that teaching at a school for meta-humans (like herself), was far different than teaching at a school for regular humans. At a school like Hammel, the teacher was able to relate to the students, for the teachers had been through a lot of the same issues the students were going through. As long as the teacher went the right way about it (by not letting the power get to their head), the teacher and students were both on equal grounds.

Evie was able to enjoy her job because her students treated her with respect. She not only gave them her respect in return, but she treated them like her friends. She scolded students for addressing her as Miss. Covington and reminded them to address her as 'Evie' instead. She took pleasure in helping out others that she could relate to. She wanted all her students to truly believe that they weren't freaks just because they were different from the rest of society.

It was at the end of yet another working day and Evie was in quite a good mood after her final class. She absolutely took delight seeing her students express themselves in the art room. She would have been content with encouraging kids without powers to express themselves, however, she doubted they'd be able to top the creativeness of her meta-human students. Some of her students liked to use their powers to add an edge to their artwork. Some enjoyed creating sculptures by manipulating metal, others enjoyed splashing paint on the canvass with their minds. Whatever their power was, the potential to surprise and delight Evie was always there.

Evie glided down the hall way towards the staff lounge, carrying a folder full of essays written by her students. The theory side of things was Evie's and her students least favourite part of the class, but it had to be done. That being said, Evie always went out of her way to make the theory side of the class as inspiring as she possibly could. Today she had to grade the papers her students handed in that lesson. The instructions were to research an artist that inspired them, a topic that allowed Evie's student to have as much creative freedom as possible. She would grade the papers this afternoon in the staff lounge before heading home, where she would be able to work on some art work of her own.

When opening the door to the staff lounge and entering straight after, she discovered that the staff lounge had company. She glanced at the unfamiliar man as his read the pile of papers in front of him while sipping his tea. As she made her way over to a free table a few feet away from the man, she smiled politely as she walked past, but said nothing, not wanting to disturb the man as he appeared to be concentrating.

As she sat down at her table, she placed her students papers in a pile in front of her as she took her pen out, ready to grade them. Before she even began to grade the papers, Evie's eyes fell upon the man once more. She figured that he was the new teacher the Hammel Institute had hired, the new art teacher. Evie knew that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on grading the papers before her until she had at least addressed the formalities that came with meeting someone new. "It's the worst part, huh?" Evie attempted to break the ice with a smile as she held up her pile of papers to indicate that grading papers was the least favourite part of her job.

[Prosper Darcy]

Prosper was looking forward to the rest of his career here, at Hammel. Some of the written responses to the introduction prompt were terribly entertaining, and although he revered the other people (including students) in an anxious manner, he could definitely see himself enjoying the years to come. Darcy was sure at some point he would begin to become restless; but for now, in his current state of perpetual flimsiness, it was safe to say that he preferred the security of this place to anywhere else.

While continuing to skim various papers in his collection (before he actually began the process of absorbing them in their entirety), Prosper finished off his tea and proceeded to toy with the can. Which meant, of course, pushing it across the table, and forcing it back into his hand with psychic tendrils of telekinetic energy. It was not exactly a taxing activity, so he exercised little caution in it, other than making sure the container actually didn't go off of the table and spill whatever remaining droplets were left. It would surely make the floor sticky, and frankly he wasn't motivated for housekeeping, at the moment.

Having found himself sucked into some one or another of the reports, Darcy was caught entirely off guard by the opening of the lounge door. He'd forgotten his initial anticipation; and, in his surprise, the can that had been already pushed away on the next go round flung itself from the table and across the room. It made a dull ping sound of aluminum off of a wall and dropped in the rebound, rolling only a few inches before it just sat there, a dent formed in its side while a few drops dripped from the tab onto the tile. Prosper's chocolate eyes leapt first to it, and then upward at the form coming through the door, understandably a little awkward about his reaction. It wasn't as if the woman's entry had been that disturbing; but he'd been so engrossed that, upon discovering the unexpected joining in his peripherals, he'd tensed, causing his mind to ricochete the can. Oops.

He exhaled and expressed a faintly sheepish smile in return to her as she passed, while he pushed back on his own chair and raised himself. If not for the tea in the floor now, he would have just been able to whisk the can back over; but now he needed to wipe up the mess before it settled and made someone's shoe-bottom adopt an unpleasant friction with whatever surface they stepped on henceforth. So, stretching with a grunt, Mr. Darcy trumped on over and scooped the can up, crumpling it telekinetically until it was a flat bit of aluminum. If there was a recycling bin here, he would drop it in - if not, he'd hold on to it until he found one, or until he got home. Then, finding a cloth over by the sink next to the coffee maker, he dampened it and returned to the accident spot, dropping it and kneeling down to wipe it up.

‘‘Hmm? ... Oh, yeah.’’ Prosper had looked over at her gesture with the papers while taking care of his mess, and nodded. His expression was lightly amused with her exasperation, but for now he put a hold on his own responses until he was back in his seat. From there he turned somewhat to her, and waved casually to some of his own ‘homework.’ ‘‘I'm sure I'll like it a lot less when I've been doing it longer,’’ he remarked, shoulders rotating lightly in a shrug. Besides, he was the photography teacher, and although he loved reading and writing just as much, observing photographs was much more bearable than going over about a hundred or so essays.

‘‘I'm Mr. Darcy, by the way,’’ he added, fixing her with briefly expectant, but pleasant look. ‘‘Creative Photography.’’ Now was one of those moments of truth, to see if he had improved at all in his interactive tact. He'd come a long way, but there were still times when offenses were made. Hopefully she wouldn't find him too demanding of an introduction from her; so, instead of gazing on for too long, he cast his face down at he writing he'd been indulging in before. He was still turned toward her though, a sign that although his visual contact was no longer focusing on her, he was still attentive as far as listening went. Perhaps she'd get the eye contact back, but for now it was a shaky subject.

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[Evangeline Covington]

Evie was slightly startled by the sound of the man's can bouncing off the wall. However, with being surrounded by meta-humans for a large portion of her life, not much surprised Evie anymore. She immediately identified the man as a telekinetic as he was obviously the culprit for the misbehaved can and he certainly hadn't made any movement with his hands as the can flew across the room. It took mere moments for Evie to relax again and take her seat at the table.

What a quirky guy. Were the amused thoughts that ran through Evie's mind as she watched the man tend to the fallen can and the small drops of liquid it had left behind. The way he squashed the can in his hand (not with his hand, but with his mind) had proved Evie's initial assumption that he was telekinetic. The new teacher had already intrigued her and if that wasn't a push to get her to talk to him, it was hard to tell what was. To say the least, Evie was very pleased when the man responded. Not only did he respond, but he responded well. It was clear to say that Evie's first impression of him was a good one.

"That's true. By the end of the year it'll become repetitive and you'll feel reluctant to grade theory work." Evie responded with a sheepish grin. "I hope I'm not putting you of teaching." She added lightly. "I'm Miss Covington, but please call me Evie. It's short for Evangeline, as I understand that it's a bit of a mouth full." She introduced herself promptly, friendliness radiating from her. "I teach art." She stated simply, delighted that the new teacher was artistic like her. Now that the ice had been broken, Evie considered it safe enough to close some of the distance between them. It wasn't long before she was sitting in the chair across from Mr. Darcy. "So, Mr. Darcy, do you have a first name? Or is that a mystery?" Evie spoke less formally, a glint of playfulness in her eyes.