occasional [ Rene ]

[Eowyn Stockbridge]

During the period after she graduated from Hammel and before she began working there, Eowyn had begun to smoke like a chimney. By now she'd limited herself to four cigarettes a week, no more- when Eowyn didn't restrict herself things got out of hand. It had happened with World of Warcraft, it had happened with her stupid illusions, and it had happened with cigarettes, and she wasn't going to make it happen again.

It was cold outside, with dry biting wind she hadn't dressed warm enough for, so she sat on top of a table pushed against the wall, at face level with the window, which was open a few inches so she could blow her smoke outside. People could complain, but there was nobody else here. Eowyn sat cross-legged, black skirt carefully placed to avoid anyone seeing anything they didn't want to see, a cup of steaming black coffee in front of her ankles. Aside from her red heels which were on the floor, Eowyn could pass for a funeral director, dressed in shades of black and grey, grim-faced and solemn.

Eowyn tried to relax, but all that did was cause her to project more images; some thin black snakes, a mouse moving across her leg that she couldn't feel. It seemed she couldn't have one without the other. She could let her guard down and bombard other people with strange images, or she could look normal and be killing herself inside with every breath. All her training ever did for Eowyn was show her how to use her power, not to keep it in check. Pursing her lips she tapped her ash out on the windowsill, took another drag on the half-finished smoke and sighed. She wasn't going to get rid of them, it was too much bloody effort and she was tired.

She let the room fill up with her subconscious, there was nobody else there after all. Trees, shadowy duplicates of herself and people she'd seen, all moving but non-material, definitely not alive.

As soon as her cigarette was finished, the butt flicked out onto the ground, Eowyn decided on another. To hell with four a week, she was having a bad day. She was aware that the whole room smelled like tobacco and patchouli because of her, as well as being full of flickering images projected from her mind. But nobody else was here. She plucked at one of numerous runs in her black stockings, lit herself another Parliament and braced against the chill of the breeze coming through the window, feeling lucky that she wasn't out there.

[Rene McKenlie]

Rene had smoked when she was in her teens, but after she became a teachers she stopped doing the crazy things she had been known for doing. She stopped getting tattoos, stopped drinking heavily, and stopped smoking. Of course she wanted to be a decent example to her students, but she also knew she needed to try and grow up, maybe just a little. Of course this was followed by a realization that she couldn't act like an adult and still have fun with her art students, so instead she chose a happy medium between being a rebellious kid in an adults body, and acting like a responsible adult.

Rene sighed and walked down the halls, her heels clicking loudly. She was always known as the teacher every guy dreamed about. Not only was she drop-dead gorgeous, but she had tattoos everywhere and acted like a teenager all the time. She was do down-to-earth everyone loved her. People in art classes respected her, and people who didn't have art classes wanted to be in an art class. She was begged by student to teach something else. So then she decided to advise the Choir Club, which made girls and guy at Hammel happy.

Rene sighed, pushing some hair out of her face, she walked to the staff lounge after her last art class. She needed a soda or something, something to drink that wasn't cold coffee or metal-tinted water. She stopped outside the room when she noticed the crazy shit going on in there. She wasn't scared though, she was surprisingly many for a beautiful lady like herself. She walked into the room then looked around and saw the woman smoking. " Somebody is having depression issues..." she said and walked over to the refrigerator, ignoring the shadows and odd illusions going on around the room. She smiled at the girl.

" Yah know, they have like... therapists here... Maybe you should invest in getting one... Might help with the... funky stuff going on in here" she said, motioning to the illusion Eowyn was creating.

[Eowyn Stockbridge]

Eowyn was one of the more solitary members of staff at Hammel, coming in to work and nothing else, avoiding direct contact with any of her colleagues. She was still quite young, still very new to being staff rather than student. In her first week here she had fallen into her old routine of calling those above her, now equals, 'sir' and 'miss', and getting strange looks. Her students didn't trust her and she couldn't blame them: the silent, weak-looking teacher suddenly becoming demanding- threatening, even. It wasn't a recipe for being liked by one's students.

Eowyn yelped, jumped about five feet when she realized there was somebody else in the room. She had been resting, leaning her head against the wall by the window, eyes closed but not sleeping, trying to trick her body into thinking that it was asleep so she wouldn't have to do it later. Hot coffee splashed over her knee and scalded her skin, and ash from the cigarette she was holding in the same hand fluttered down onto the table. Taking the last couple of puffs, Eowyn worked quickly at getting rid of everything in the room she had generated. A few mice scuttled here and there, a small tree in the corner, but she would just assume that they had been there to begin with. She reached over for a few tissues, pressing at her tights.

"I'm not depressed," she said unconvincingly, "And I don't need a therapist, I'm not crazy." While what she said was true (at least in her eyes), her appearance seemed to say otherwise. Emaciated, white as a sheet, appearing starved and wild like an abused dog, appearing as if she hadn't had a proper nights' sleep in weeks. It was true that she didn't eat much or sleep more than four hours a night, but her reasons were totally legitimate. If she thought she saw crazy in Eowyn here at school, wait until she saw her house. "Maybe you're crazy," She added defensively, a pout on her lips like a small child.

Eowyn paused to get a good look at the woman she was talking to. "You teach art. I took one of your classes when I was doing my final year here." It sounded like it might have been a question, but it wasn't a question. She hadn't been bad at art, having a very visual memory and thought process helped with recreating images, and her strange way of stringing things together made for some pretty decent paintings. She still had two projects she did- an oil painting of scuba-diving bears and one of Victorian crazy people infected with the plague, open sores and all, at a childrens' tea party.

Alright, maybe Eowyn was crazy.