 apologies for her stage left exit doesn't proofread tweets | #wrongaboutcereal | #siriusly? | emo to the extremo
A grumpy Potions professor eavesdropping on teenage girls from an annex? Please. Frankly, a tired trope. Did Professor Cox have nothing better to do with his afternoon than slink around the laboratory and belittle students for caring about something beyond his own ‘subject matter expertise’? It was sad. And his weird response to her private conversation:? Tropical luau? He was clearly trying to make her feel stupid and it was uncalled for.
Pick on someone your own age, creep.
But ever well mannered, Asena tilted her head as she took in his weathered features, coarse hands, a clear lack of SPF discipline. A man who has never touched a bottle of hyaluronic acid in his life. It’s such a shame when the male ego gets in the way of taking care of oneself. Hm. “Tropical, no,” she shook her head, brows knitted together in confusion. “I guess I just expected different architectural standards, though the rustic vibe is charming.” She kept her features schooled - gentle and polite, though her thoughts were scathing.
And while Asena wasn’t one to back down from a verbal sparing match, she knew when to pick her battles and she was entirely unwilling to find herself facing any sort of disciplinary action within her first month here. Though she did notice Cat’s own shift. Sensing some embarrassment, she turned to her almost apologetically. “You're welcome,” she said softly before nodding towards the bottle sitting between them. “Two drops. Morning and night.”
But knowing herself, and knowing that if she stayed in this place for another sixty seconds, her tongue would likely betray her sense of self control, Asena began packing away her unused cauldron. “If you will excuse me, Professor,” she looked at him for a moment, feature still soft, and back to Cat before making her exit toward the door. “I have a damp castle to conquer. Good luck with your potion, Cat. I’ll find you later to see how it went.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and stepped out into the corridor.
Merlin. What an absolute nightmare of a man. The suddenness of his appearance. Looming overhead. It had sent a familiar, unwelcome prickle of tension down her spine. Boys, men, they were all the same. They wanted control of the narrative. And she'd spent the last year learning the hard way what happened when you let them.
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