We Meet At Last {Christian}

[DR. EDITH ALLINGHAM]

Christian Riechenbach tried very hard, very hard indeed, to hide the fact that he was clever. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Allingham had a very well-honed sense for intelligence, and he had shown up on the English teacher's radar.

She'd summoned him to her classroom after school today to discuss the issue, though she was only 30% certain that he would actually appear. He didn't take any particular interest in his schoolwork, so why would she take an interest in what a teacher had to say to him? Well, she supposed there was nothing for it but to wait.

There was something about Christian, though...it made her unexpectedly uncomfortable. She was never able to put her finger on what. It wasn't that he intimidated her or that she had some awkward teacher-student crush on him - perish the thought, honestly - but rather that she sensed there was something...unsafe about him. It made something, some voice, in the back of her mind pipe up quietly, a voice that wasn't quite her own.

And that voice suggested she steer clear of Christian Riechenbach.

However, Edie was not driven by intuition in the same way another member of her species might be. She rarely made conclusions without hard evidence, sound logic, or at least a well-grounded assumption; as it stood, she had few resources to draw from when it came to Christian. For that reason, and since she so firmly believed in walking and not jumping to conclusions, she reserved judgment on him. No matter what feeling she got from him.

Regardless, now was not the time to consider it, seeing as he wasn't even here yet. Whether or not he would even arrive was yet to be seen. She liked to think she did not make mistakes, but as it stood, perhaps it would have been more efficient to catch him after class...

But, no, if this conversation went as planned, it might take a while, and the period she had Christian was not prior to one of her own free periods. In addition, she had no idea if it was before one of Christian's study halls. Indeed, it would have been impractical to try to snag his attention for this conversation after class; she had made the right decision.

Of course, whether he would or not was yet to be seen. She couldn't force him to come, after all.

So, with a soft sigh, Dr. Allingham sat back in her chair with her copy of The Complete Sherlock Holmes, pushed up her scarlet reading glasses, and waited.

ooc: outfit!

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Christian Reichenbach was, on paper as far as his school file was concerned, remarkably unremarkable. Since attending Baum at the wee age of fourteen he had maintained an impressive C average. It would not sound impressive to anyone normal, anyone who just thumbed through the file. But on closer inspection, it would be noted that he never got a grade higher nor lower than the third letter in the alphabet. Not a single B by accident, not a single D by mischance. He was relatively quiet in his classes, his pale blue eyes soaking in the scenery from the center of the room. Never the front of the room where he would be noticed by a teacher for being astute, or the back where he'd be noticed for being a trouble maker. He maintained an incredible level of anonymity.

Even his cloths did not demand a lot of attention, unless inspected closely. Generally muted colors, layers. Like today he wore a light gray button down, with a darker gray jacket. Around his neck was a loose black tie that hung below the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. His jeans were normal and painfully average, his shoes a pair of clean converse. A watch, a back pack, an iPod. But, as said, there was something to be seen on closer inspection. His watch was a Rolex, peeking over two grand, and his music had not one note of modern music. Instead it sang out Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. Though, if you asked him, he would tell you he was listening to Sebastian, Ludwig Van, or Wolfgang, as if the composure's were old tried and true friends. Because, in a way, they were. And his cloths were diligently arranged: not too tidy, or too messy. Just in between, coasting. No one noticed coasters.

Except nosy English Teachers who carry the pretentious title of Doctor despite working at a High School.

He considered not going. But, he thought soundly, if he did not go and prove he was unremarkable, than it would merely fuel whatever theory this woman had created in her head. So he walked listlessly to her room, making sure to take his sweet time. Christian would not be prompt, because that might indicate interest, and he certainly would not be showing that he had any fucks concerning this situation. He, of course, did. What had given him away? When making haiku's in class, had he not earned his c by making it 8-6-8 syllables instead of 7-5-7? In his report on what his favorite book was, was the synopsis of To Kill a Mockingbird not sufficiently superficial? This was utterly frustrating.

He strolled in, sitting in the front row across her desk, setting his bag next to him and silencing Double Violin Concerto in D minor 2nd movement by his old friend Sebastian. There she was, Dr. Edith Allingham. She was a frumpy woman, with a certain quality of beauty that had to be searched for. But, no, her make up was light if at all existent, and her cloths were slacked and plain. She cared far more for her career and her mind than her appearance. Tapping the corner of his faceless iPod, Christian put on his 50's gee whiz smile for Dr. A, and his voice sounded light and pleasing. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up in the hall. You wanted to see me, Ma'am?" There was something rather irksome about her, that Christian could not quite put his finger on. It was rather annoying, and he found his acute eyes watching her closely to search for a reason why.

OUTFIT OF MR. CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH.

[DR. EDITH ALLINGHAM]

Dr. Allingham was not easily offended at all.

In fact, she rarely took offense to anything, because the fact of the matter was that she was a good deal smarter than 99.9% of the human population, and she knew it. Why she was an English teacher in a high school and not building rockets for the U.S. military, she would never know. Probably because rockets didn't interest her. Literature, on the other hand, did.

The point was, she was hardly even irked by Christian's being late, whereas most teachers would be positively pissed off. It didn't offend her or upset her. He was late. It was a fact of life. It wasn't as if she had much else to do this evening besides grade papers, and God knew that would be exciting.

So, when he did come sauntering into her classroom, she merely looked up at him, raised her eyebrows, and gestured to the seat across from her.

"Have a seat," she said simply, neither acknowledging nor debunking the excuse he gave her.

She picked up a bookmark in her nimble fingers and slid it between the pages of her book before setting it aside, taking off her reading glasses and setting them atop the large volume. Her movements were surprisingly graceful for a woman who was not known for her physical beauty.

Turning her keen, nearly black eyes back to Christian, she met his gaze with one equally as analyzing, her face, as usual, almost expressionless.

"Yes, I did," she said slowly. Her diction was something close to flawless.

"I've noticed something about your grades in my class, Christian." She folded her hands and set them on the table. "Something quite peculiar that I don't think has been mentioned to you before." A slight smile turned the corner of her lip into a smirk. "You have a C average in my class. In fact, you have a C average in all of your classes. But I've found it odd that your grades are always C's...exactly."

She regarded him calmly for a moment before taking a few papers from a stack beside her and laying them out before him.

"This essay. A C. This assignment. A C. This one and this one. Both C's. Not C-'s or C+'s, not a single interspersed A or D or B, but all perfect C's." Looking up at him, she tilted her head slightly to the side and regarded him with a sort of polite curiosity.

"Do you have an explanation for that?"

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

There it was.

That beauty that had to be searched for.

Christian watched as Dr. Allingham enunciated each of her words so delicately, chin rising slightly as she regarded the stack of papers that would appear to be his hard labors this passing semester. And, yes, he had slaved over making them so precisely mediocre. Strictly factual, in fact. Nothing that could be deemed wrong, but- as his former English Teacher was so fond of saying- always lacked personality. Clearly she had not been searching thoroughly enough, for the good Dr. Allingham had seemed to have stumbled upon personality. However, she did not appear to know what this personality said.

And, good lord, she was beautiful right now. Her hair, which had moments ago thought lank, had a perfect sheen. Her eyes, which he had found beady, were now jet and calculating. Her skin, sallow only moments ago, was fair as aged porcelain. However, this siren had committed a grave crime in the world of Christian Reichenbach. She had dared to try and understand Christian, the closest sign of love he had ever received from an adult. Ironic, given the person he was receiving it from. And there was no greater sin, no greater evil, than to love him. Did he understand it?

No.

Of course not.

But that was the point, wasn't it? Not everything was to be understood. People like Dr. Allingham never understood that. To them, a subject of interest had to be dissected. As much as he respected it, adored it, and found it refreshing; he found it distasteful, hateful, and strikingly stifling. As with every enjoyment Christian allowed himself in his life, he tainted it with a loathsome doppelganger. An evil twin of emotions.

With her inquiry on his take of her findings, Christian smiled, sucking his teeth as his thin but wide set lips absorbed the lower half of his face. "A C every time you say? Are you sure? I was positive I had gotten a B on that quiz Monday..." There was a glint to his eyes. In a way, he wanted to know that she was perfectly right. Only in a way that she could never prove it to anyone who mattered. Christian had been raised in a very Spartan in that sense. You could lie, and cheat, and hurt, and steal, and plot. But if you got caught, your ass was proverbial grass. Better to let the fox eat you from under your shirt. "I don't know what to say... it's shameful, I know. There are so many distractions, I'm sure you understand." It was laughable that distractions could prove the product of two and a half years of perfect seventy-twos percents. "I'll be sure to try harder. Is that all?" He was rising from his seat as he concluded, smile widening, near certain she was not finished.

Someone like Edith Allingham wouldn't be satisfied with a crumb.

Someone like Edith Allingham would want the whole cake.

[DR. EDITH ALLINGHAM]

Edith loved people like this.

She hated to admit to that, considering any untoward feelings for a student of hers would be quite troublesome. But Edie did not have “feelings” the same way that other people had feelings. She had intrigue, she had passion, but they were for ideas, concepts, inanimate things towards which affection always had to be platonic instead of sexual. Anyone who spoke to her in depth on the subject of romantic feeling would find her the most asexual creature within a 100-mile radius – she wasn’t interested in it.

She was, and had always been, a virgin, both to sex itself and to the concept of romantic intent.

So the sudden wave of affection she felt towards Christian did not concern her. It was not based on how nice his hair looked or the slant of his cheeks or the vivid color of his eyes. Hardly. Edie had never cared about those kinds of things, external features; they were irrelevant, sheerly objective. No, she liked Christian because he was proving to be a puzzle, and Edie loved nothing more than she loved puzzles.

She wanted to unravel him, to untangle every little knot he threw at her and sort out the threads and lay them flat on the table. She wanted to decipher him like a code and save her findings in a Word document on her laptop.

A slight swell of excitement filled her chest.

Her dark eyes watched his face contort. She listened to him carefully, observing him, noting everything about him. She did this all the time, with everyone. She had gone over him at least fifty times, in person and in private, trying to figure him out. Only now did she have the opportunity to do an in-depth analysis, as he sat here before her.

Oh, she couldn’t stand how fun it was.

"A C every time you say? Are you sure? I was positive I had gotten a B on that quiz Monday..."

His eyes glinted, and she knew he was lying. She steepled her fingers.

"I don't know what to say... it's shameful, I know. There are so many distractions, I'm sure you understand."

She tilted her head to the side, the great computer of her brain working at full capacity. His courtesy was somehow false. His surprise was inherently plastic. He was a very good actor, but she was better. Years of experience had given her that talent. She could identify it in others with graceful ease.

"I'll be sure to try harder. Is that all?"

She let him get up, let him think that she was finished for just a moment before saying, “Sit down, Mr. Reichenbach. I’m afraid we’re not finished.”

Something in the back of her head was itching terribly, some distant male voice telling her to leave the whole business alone for her own safety, but she ignored it. That faint little voice in her head often piped up around Christian. As if he were dangerous. But that couldn’t be. He was a seventeen-year-old boy.

“There’s more to it,” she continued, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve looked at your permanent record out of sheer academic curiosity, and you’ve been getting perfect C’s in all your classes for...quite some time now. Now, as you are not a teacher, you may not know this, but the statistical probability of getting the same letter grade in all of your classes the entire year, for more than one year, is...well.” She took out a notecard and a pen and started writing on it, speaking quickly as her hand moved. “There are eleven possible letter grades at this school: A, A minus, B plus, B, B minus, C plus, C, C minus, D plus, D, and F. So your chance each respective marking period of getting exactly a C, at random, is one eleventh, or about 9.1 percent. Do you follow?” She knew that he was following, so she went on, continuing to draw out the math on the card as she did it. “Per year, there are four marking periods, which means that each marking period, at random, you would have a 9.1 percent chance of getting a C. The chance of getting a C for all four marking periods would therefore be one eleventh times one eleventh times one eleventh times one eleventh, or one over eleven to the fourth power, which equates to 0.00006830134554, or 0.007 percent. Not to even go into the statistical probability of getting exactly a C out of eleven possible letter grades in every single one of your seven classes, or the statistical probability of getting exactly a C in every single one of your classes for however many years you’ve been playing this game. So.”

Clearing her throat delicately, she leaned forward and smiled at him, a small smile that was only slightly smug. “Tell me, Mr. Reichenbach. Exactly how long have you been pretending to be average?”

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Dear God.

Christian wanted her.

He sat obediently and watch as she mathematically dissected the anomaly that was Christian Reichenbach. Right now, Edith Allingham was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. Usually, there was only one who Christian might love. His Song Bird, his dear friend. The only person on his level. The love- love being the optimal word, as it was the closest existing word to the feelings he had at this moment- he felt for his teacher right now was different. While he was hiding a problem under his desk that boys his age did get at the most inopportune times, he did not actually want to bed her. No, that would taint this beauty, destroy it. He didn't want her that way. He just wanted her.

She asked if he understood. Yes, oh yes, Christian understood so well. He understood her! He probably was the only one who really did. Oh, certainly she had people who liked her, who found her quirkiness charming as it was infuriating, who cared for her as was the most human of emotions. But none of them could appreciate her, not like Christian did. Other people could even love people like Edith and Christian- if they had the courage, the patience, and the fortitude to- but they would never feel whole. People like Edith and Christian were special, and not always in good ways. They didn't feel, not as other people did. And if they did feel that shred of humanity creep up on them, they'd dash it as quickly as they could.

They were kindred spirits, Edith and Christian. Combined at the soul, if one believed in such things- which, ironically, neither of them would.

Christian met her eyes at her final question, summarizing the tirade of arithmetic so gracefully, her tongue should have been wearing a satin ballet slipper. He watched her with his pale blue eyes, his thumb resting under his chin and his fingers pressed against his lips. The grin he had was not wide, despite his lips being so distinctly wide. It was a subtle grin, almost appreciative that his hard work was being made note of. Had another teacher inquired, he'd have silky shaken them off. But he wanted her to know, to see. And to know that he wanted her to know. Of course, not in so many words, not out loud. Christian was never one to say 'look at me' at something so important. This was not one of his exercises, this was war.

Beautiful, violent, bloody, war.

"Ma'am?" His voice sounded so innocent and unbecoming, but his smile and eyes held the intensity of knowing exactly what he was doing. Lowering his hand, Christian's smile became more pronounced. Smug, even. Still, his voice stayed the part of the unassuming school boy. "You think that... I'm confused." Leaning forward, the amusement he wore was gleeful. Certainly not confused. "Let me see if I follow... You think I am purposely getting C's in my classes? Why would I do that? I mean, if I had that sort of foresight... wouldn't I just get straight A's. Maybe you should have my Great Aunt Emilie in here. Certainly her hard earned A's are more worrisome than my mediocre C's."

Lounging back in his seat, Christian looked away from her, allowing his smile to overcome his face, yet only allowing her to see it in profile. "I guess I should be pleased you'd think I could be so mindful, to have a great scheme in mind with shitty grades." His smile faded to a smirk, Christian looked back at her, eyes intently boring into her. "You must really think I'm... the Napoleon of the classroom, Dr. Allingham. Thank you, I suppose."

[DR. EDITH ALLINGHAM]

Edie had never once in her life run across anyone like her. Not once.

There had been times, of course, when she thought she had. There had been times when she had encountered an adult in one of her parents’ intellectual circles and she had thought them very clever, maybe even as clever as her. And some of them were exceedingly clever.

However, none of them were like her.

She learned, very quickly, that most people pretended to be more intelligent than they were – at least, people in intellectual circles, people who were supposed to be intellectuals. They memorized a lot of famous literature and knew a lot of facts, and some of them were good with words, some of them with their hands, but none of them, none of them, had a mind like hers, churning and whirring, photographic, eidetic, remembering everything and forgetting nothing save those things that she chose to delete. They all made quite the show of having witty quips at the ready, prepared at the drop of a hat to launch themselves into deeply philosophical conversation, but if she asked them two days later what she had been wearing in her hair the last time they had spoken, they wouldn’t be able to remember.

They didn’t observe, they just saw, like everyone else. When she had realized this, she had been crushingly disappointed.

But she got over it.

This boy, though. He wasn’t pretending to be intelligent. He was pretending not to be intelligent. Why, why, why would he do that? She knew well enough that there were girls who pretended they weren’t clever in order to get boys to like them, something she had always found ruthlessly disgusting. But Christian was a Caucasian male. He had few things to fear in this world, particularly from being smart. So what was it?

She could see it in his face that he knew. He knew he was clever, he knew exactly what he was doing, but he continued to string her along anyway, for whatever reason, whatever game it was that he was playing. It was both fascinating and infuriating. She clasped her hands together, bringing them to her lips as if in prayer, elbows resting on the table. Her eyes were riveted on him, dark and intense and discerning. “That is exactly what I think you’re doing,” she said, her voice analytical and flat. “And don’t be boring now, I was just starting to get intrigued.” That was a lie, but the note of smugness in her own voice was meant as a challenge. She pursed her lips.

“I have a theory. Well, I have several theories, but this is my best one.” Her eyes were unblinking, hardly moving as she spoke. “I think you’re clever – exceptionally clever. I also think that you don’t want the world to know you’re clever. You aim to glide under the radar. While I can’t deduce an exact reason why, I can theorize, and believe me, Mr. Reichenbach, I have theorized.” She smirked. “A’s are boring. Anyone can get straight A’s if they’re in the right setting and they work hard enough. That’s obvious. But C’s. C’s, exactly C’s, now, that is interesting. Nobody wants C’s. Even the students who get C’s don’t want C’s. But you, oh, you, you’re quite content with your C’s – obviously, or you would try harder. There would be some fluctuation. There always has to be some fluctuation, it’s only logical.” The smirk grew. “Not so for Christian Reichenbach. And therein lies the riddle.”

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

His posture grew worse as she spoke, and his face was some what lethargic as he soaked in her every word. Christian had a habit, one his Grandfather detested but could never break him of, of slouching. But it was done so gracefully that it was almost as though he was draped in his seat. Like a piece of fine silk just off a ship, that has no exact home in a houses decorum yet. In fact, that was a fairly good allegory for how Christian had lead his life. A fine piece of work, but with no home. No place he exactly belonged. And Edith was the same, he knew.

She claimed to not be interested, but if it had been Christian he would not bother if he was not interested. Edith was keeping him here, based on the authority of a teacher to a student. She wasn't just interested, but fascinated.

Christian listened dutifully as she presented theory. Than he pondered it. And then he laughed. It was a rich, booming, thick laugh that engulfed the classroom. Every literary poster, every book, every closed window, and every desk was encompassed by the patronizing chortle. "I'm sorry-" He didn't sound the least bit contrite, as he wiped mirthful tears from his eyes. "But if that is all of your theory, it's horrible incomplete. I expected more..." And as sudden as it came, the laughter died, a quick and sudden death.

Leaning forward, a purely devilish grin spread on those wide, thin, lips, he spoke crisply to his teacher. "Now, here's my theory, Doctor Allingham. You're bored here. That doctorite is- what- a Ph.D? What in the hell are you doing at a high school? Investigating a 'mediocre' student, in search of conspiracies. I mean, a woman of your esteem can understand surely how no one would take you seriously if you brought this to them. Because its ludicrous. And, if you continue to pursue it, I'm sure the school board would dub it harassment." Licking his lips, he sat back in his seat, purely at ease. His eyes traveled across the room, his lackadaisical tone still purely amused. "You should probably find more fulfilling hobbies, or perhaps a different career. Maybe get a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, if that's your fancy." He grinned at the idea, though his teeth barred like an angry dog.

The idea of someone else tainting his Beatrice Portinari purely disgusting. Loudly, he sucked on his teeth. It would be a crime, a sin, worthy of painful punishment. Pins dug into their fingernails, and snapping ribs. "Now, are we done here, Dr. Allingham? As fun as this is, it is getting quite late. I'd hate for people to assume something inappropriate to be occurring here...." There was almost a sudden playfulness to those clear blue eyes, asking her to dare him. Oh, he knew she would not let this go because he threatened to sick the big, bad, school board. Such a thing is immaterial to a demi-goddess.

But still, it was oh so fun to let her know the war was on.

[DR. EDITH ALLINGHAM]

Edie did not experience sexual attraction.

She hadn't. She didn't. Not once in her life had she ever actually looked at someone and thought to herself that she wanted to kiss them or hold their hand or have sexual intercourse with them. It simply wasn't something that interested her. She had tried, once, as an experiment, to see what it would feel like, and the level of vulnerability required, the amount of herself that she had to expose, the power that she had to relinquish, were not worth the results. It had been awkward and clumsy and she had received very little pleasure from it at all.

On top of that, she had not allowed him to kiss her. Therein, she was still a virgin.

However, Edie was more than capable of being...mentally attracted to a person. There was nothing sexual about it -- it was a sense of admiration, appeal, a desire to engage and test and poke and prod and discover and comprehend and analyze rather than a desire to take to her bed. And it was that mental desire that was beginning to tickle the back of her mind when she looked or thought about Christian Reichenbach.

Of course, she pressed those feelings down almost immediately. Attraction of any kind to a student, even if it was entirely intellectual, was inappropriate. And Edie was always very specific about that.

She watched him with her dark eyes half-lidded, focused on him intently as he spoke, her expression not shifting at all as he spoke. His words elicited absolutely no reaction, simply a raise of her eyebrows, as if to say, "Seriously?" Was he honestly trying to threaten her to turn her off his trail? Oh, how endearing.

Still, the way that he spoke, the way he immediately lit up for that brief moment before that glance of the inner workings of his mind so quickly dissipated, gave her a thrill of satisfaction and fascination. She was right. She'd known she was right. And he'd just proven it to her.

Steepling her fingers, she smiled at him, a small, largely humorous expression, eyes watching him with an intensity unmatched.

"Well," she drawled in her exotically untraceable accent, "I didn't expect you to so swiftly threaten me with your contacting the school board for harassment. And it is quite clear that you have misunderstood me." An expressionless blink. "I don't intend to take this to anyone. It certainly isn't any sort of crime for you to get C's. I couldn't, in fact, possibly care less about your GPA. I care abut the how and the why. What intrigues me is why a boy such as yourself, clearly with such a competent mind, chooses to get C's when he could get A's with half the effort--" She paused, hands clasping together. Her eyes flickered back and forth, unseeing with realization.

"Oh," she said softly, and then, a little louder, "Oh." A small grin almost immediately split her face, white teeth glinting as her curling lips exposed them. "This is about the effort, isn't it. You're bored. This is a game for you. Getting A's is too easy, but getting C's, exactly C's...now that's a challenge for you. The calculations it must take...yes, yes, undoubtedly, that has to be it." Her grin shrunk to a smile, eyes narrowing.

At the suggestion, her lips twitched into a fleeting smirk. "I have hobbies," she said rather simply, choosing not to elaborate. Her occasional work with the police department was her own business, as were the stacks of puzzle books she had burned through over the years that crowded her flat. "And a boyfriend? Girlfriend? No." Her expression turned dry, voice becoming deliberate and thoughtful. "Not really my area..."

She watched him stand, not moving from her seat, like a hawk watching her prey from a branch high, high above. "You do realize," she said, once again droning in that sardonic and vaguely smug tone that was her default speaking voice, "that I'm not at all intimidated by you or your threats. You may do and say what you like. I have no intention of telling anyone about your little game -- I played the same kinds of games when I was in school." She leaned forward a bit, raptor's eyes riveted on him. "I just like to know I'm right." A small smile crossed her lips, and she nodded to him.

"You are...free to go."

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

He smiled as she bantered. He soaked her in, he inhaled her essence. How strange were her grace but somehow masculine gestures; how keen were her eyes that danced about. She was a computer, scanning for information. Taking in everything she could. She did not smell of perfume or lotion, but of fun. Suddenly such ideas came to his head, though his eyes stared clear and blue. Beautiful and terrible things. His love for her grew. She was right, the threat was preemptive. Far too much so. A sign of his impatient youth, but Edith Allingham would learn that he was quite patient. Still his eyes stayed blank. He'd give her no hints, no clues. Only what Christian wanted. Edith would get bored if she didn't get her foreplay, and so would he.

Her discovery made him hard. Harder than a diamond in an ice storm. It was such a little thing, but her eyes were pits of fire. He wanted to touch her. No, no... She was almost there. She was so close. But, no. Not the effort. That wasn't the appeal. Oh, Edith, his heart ached. He was bored... so bored. WAS. What was their to be bored about, when he had this lovely creature with which to play? "You think I do it because I'm bored?" He reiterated, eyes finally showing something. Curiosity. What did she want, his pretty friend? "I enjoy to stay in the background. You see much more..." He saw her. He saw her face. He saw beyond her face.

His eyes grew blank again as he took in Edith's face. She was bored. She saw herself in Christian. She projected. Boredom. It was an ugly word to their kind. Busy work had little appeal. It was buzzy and irritating, because you knew it was an attempt to distract yourself. And she hadn't had anything fun to do until discovering his little anomaly.

Christian smiled as she finished up, softening his boy probably by half and no more. There was a queer little smile on his face. One unlike him, not just lifted in the edges. It was a full bow, his eyes watching her tapering fingers. "I'm a c average minor student. Not popular, not unpopular. No real skills, barely any interest that anyone can think of. How on earth can I be a threat to you, Dr. Allingham?" He stood, collecting his things. When she mentioned she played the same games- Oh Edith, you have no idea with which what games he'd soon be playing- he smiled a little wider. Empathy. Probably so rare she didn't see it. Didn't know it was happening. Confirming his theory on her seeing herself in Christian.

His eyes grew bright and playful, almost looking a more transparent blue than usual. "Did you, Dr. Allingham... I think you may need to brush up. Play a few exercise rounds... Because you're wrong." Christian's smile grew more natural for him, which means unnatural of course, and he was right back to being a common high schooler. "You have a nice day. I'll see you on Monday." And than he left.