corbett_prof (corbett_prof) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-11-19 14:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | corbett renfroe, wynne barber |
After Class
He had attended the class with a friend. He wasn't sure why he had agreed. If pressed, Wynne would have explained that he had two hours to kill. Truthfully, he had always been fascinated with sitting in on other people's lives. That's why he had liked going round to his mates' for dinner when he was younger. Seeing different meal-time rituals, the small disagreements that were foreign to him. It was like that here, except without food.
He hadn't really been bored, but his mind wandered. The professor would say something and that would set Wynne on his own mental tangent. Perhaps that had explained his poor marks in school.
The period had ended, and the students had shuffled out. Wynne forgot where he was, and he sat at a desk, staring at his sunglasses which lay folded upon the surface. They slowly began to float upward; a centimeter at first, then an inch. His record for holding an object up was eight minutes.
Since he was only teaching one class this semester, Corbett knew he didn't have to immediately bolt from the classroom on his way to some other obligation on campus. The Watcher took his time collecting the materials of the day, stuffing lecture notes into a manila folder before unplugging the laptop hooked to the classroom projector; while Corbett was by no means a technological expert, he learned early on just how valuable a PowerPoint presentation was when used in conjunction with a lecture.
Something caught the Watcher's eye as he wrapped the computer's power cord over his arm. He stopped, looking over the pond of desks. An eyebrow raised when Corbett saw a pair of sunglasses hovering just above the surface of one of the desks, an unfamiliar face behind them. While Corbett was no stranger to such displays, he didn't expect to see one in his classroom.
"That's ... quite impressive," he interjected, placing the power cord in his black shoulder bag. "Not sure how it will help you on the final, though."
At the sound of the voice, the black sunglasses clattered back against the desk. Wynne looked up, blinked once and cleared his throat. A millisecond was the maximum amount of time he required to regain his usual haughty composure. "I'm not a student here," he replied in his own clipped accent. The young man stood, picked up the glasses and slid them into the chest pocket of his navy blue jacket. He glanced toward the open door, took a step toward it, then seemed to change his mind. He slowly approached the professor instead.
"I was just sitting in."
Corbett cocked his head to the side, finding it rather odd that someone who wasn't a student would willingly sit in on a college class. Though that explained why the young man was unfamiliar to the Watcher; for a moment, Corbett wondered if maybe he was worse at learning all his students' names than he thought. There were only 14 students in the class, but Corbett was having a hard time remembering who was who.
He cringed to think how bad that would be in the spring, when he had two or three classes on his schedule.
"Are you thinking of enrolling?" Corbett asked, thinking that could be the only logical explanation for why someone who wasn't a student sitting in on a class. Maybe the young man wanted to make sure Florida Keys Community College was what he wanted in a school before going through the application process.
Wynne laughed, but the sound wasn't entirely derisive. He still retained enough of his upbringing that he knew when it was prudent to show some iota of respect to his elders. Even though the professor held no authority over him, he certainly seemed to count. "No. That's one thing of which I'm certain. A friend of mine attends here, and ..." He trailed off, realizing said acquaintance was nowhere to be seen. They didn't even wait for him. A slight, irritated frown appeared on his face, then quickly vanished. "They seem to have gone off without me," he continued smoothly. "I was merely curious. After high school, I sort of struck out on my own."
The Watcher gave a nod of understanding; though he spent almost his entire life surrounded by some form of academia -- though he knew the Watchers' Academy was nowhere near the style of academia that America was accustomed to -- Corbett understood that such a life did not appeal to certain people. He knew there were those who, once secondary school was completed, wanted nothing more to do with a classroom or a syllabus.
This young man was apparently one such individual.
Closing the zipper on the shoulder bag and hoisting it over his left shoulder, Corbett extended his right hand and offered a formal, if empty, smile. "Well, it was a pleasure to have you here," he said. "I hope I didn't bore you too terribly, Mr. ...?"
Wynne shook the man's hand firmly, but with very little enthusiasm. He had not been planning on getting caught during one of his little magical experiments, but the professor seemed altogether ... well, accustomed to seeing such things. He wondered if he dabbled. If so, that would be quite interesting. Peter notwithstanding, he had not met anyone else in Key West with those abilities. "Barber," he replied blithely.
"Mr. Barber," Corbett replied with a pleasant smile -- at least, he hoped it appeared pleasant. Such mannerisms were still largely unknown to the Watcher, because frankly, they weren't exactly commonplace at the Council. Corbett wasn't one to shun small talk or social graces, but he knew he had a lot to learn on that front.
The two men walked out of the classroom, the halls of this particular building thinning as the seconds drew closer to the start of the next class. Corbett had a faculty meeting in an hour, then he had a teleconference with the Council headquarters in London an hour after that. He had a busy afternoon coming up, but the Watcher didn't mind taking a few moments to talk to someone else.
Particularly after that little display.
"How long," he started, keeping his voice low, "how long have you been practicing telekinesis?"
The frown returned, but this time it was one of confusion. "Telekinesis? I ... oh." Wynne smiled to himself, like a young boy with a tantalizing secret. What harm would it do, to tell this man who didn't even recognize magic when he saw it? "A levitation spell. Not one I use often." Wynne did not consider himself to be Wiccan. Nature was merely an incidental to him, something that could either be manipulated or consumed. But the spells, that power he could slowly feel acclimating itself to his body ... that was his to use.
"I've been practicing since I was about fourteen. When I first picked up one of the books, I somehow just knew ... that I could do it. Up until then, I had never been confident about anything," he admitted with a self-satisfied grin.
Corbett nodded, making a mental note to record this encounter with Mr. Barber when he next had the opportunity. As far as the Watcher knew, this was his first up-close encounter with a bastion of the supernatural since arriving in Key West, and Corbett wanted to make sure he had it on-record in case some of his further research uncovered something relevant.
"A simple enough spell, probably," Corbett mused. "I'm afraid I never took to the actual practice of magic. Research and magickal theory come naturally, but I never was able to actually cast a spell."
The halls were empty now, save Corbett and Mr. Barber. As such, his voice rose again to its normal tone, but Corbett did make sure to keep a constant eye on the hallways. One never knew when a student running late would burst through from around the corner or another faculty member would be on his or her way in or out.
"Probably just as well," he added with a self-depricating grin. "The world doesn't need me trying to cast spells."
Wynne raised an eyebrow. "You've researched magic? Does that ... come in handy when teaching American history?" So the professor wasn't a spell caster. He supposed that was alright with him. He was a bit old, anyway. Probably not up to the kind of fun he was used to. Of course, very few people seemed to appreciate Wynne's work.
"Did you come all the way to the States just to teach a rudimentary course at a small college?" he inquired, giving the professor a closer once-over. Trying to suss out if there was anything beneath that academic surface.
"It was useful when I was younger," Corbett said, shifting his weight to his right foot as he moved the shoulder bag to a more comfortable position over his shoulder. He glanced to his left again, making sure the sound of a door opening he heard didn't precede the appearance of a student or faculty member. "There was a large underground movement in England back in the 1970s, and some of us thought the idea of magic would go mainstream.
"When it didn't, I found myself entering the more mundane aspects of academia."
Was the story complete bullshit? Sure, but it sure beat telling a random guy who could float sunglasses that he was with the Council. When it came to people with magickal abilities, Corbett learned there was no telling what they knew or what they were capable of doing. Sometimes, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Hmm," Wynne replied vaguely, but the sound contained a hint of disappointment, and just a bit of skepticism. "Well, I'm glad it didn't. Go mainstream, that is. Could you imagine?" And he wouldn't be special anymore; there wouldn't be anything to set him apart. It made him realize what he had to do about Peter, but that was a train of thought for a different time.
"Well, I'm sure you must be busy," the young man said with the trace of a smile. "Here I am, taking up your time."
Another smile, this one feeling more genuine than the last. "It's quite alright," Corbett answered with a wave of his hand. "This conversation has been far more entertaining than any staff meeting I'll ever attend."
A bored-looking girl sauntered up to them then, and her narrowed eyes were pinned on Wynne. "I've been waiting in the student lounge for you," she said, a note of accusation in her voice. She crossed her arms and glanced warily at the professor. "Now we're running late."
Wynne fought the urge to roll his eyes as he turned to Corbett. "It was good speaking with you," he said.
"Likewise," Corbett said, trying his best to hide the bemused look on his face. The girl seemed entirely too uptight; the Watcher was sure that whatever they were on their way for could've waited a little while longer. Though he'd only been around for almost a month, Corbett could already tell Key West was a laid-back kind of place; it had a sort of leisurely pace to it.
This girl did not.
Just as well; Corbett glanced at his watch. He had 45 minutes to grab something to eat before one of those oh-so-thrilling staff meetings. This was easily Corbett's least favorite thing about being a professor.